


All Flowers in Time

by becomingshades



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Angst, Creative Director!Louis, Drama, Harry is like a bit of an Ed Sheeran type, I don't know you guys, I just love kidfic, Just lots of kids who I hope to god are cute, Kid Fic, Kidfic, Love, M/M, Mad Man!Liam, Mad Man!Louis, West End Starlet!Sophia, louis is a single dad, obviously, popstar!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becomingshades/pseuds/becomingshades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <em>all flowers in time bend toward the sun, i know you say there's no one for you, but here is one;</em><br/></p>
</div><br/>Okay so here's the thing-- Louis Tomlinson is a single 30-year-old father. He's very good at denying himself things.  Things like this 22-year-old pop star who entered his life suddenly, and seems as if he wants to stay. Louis has got this all under control. He really does.<p>Well. Except there's one small problem: Harry Styles doesn't want to be denied. And he's pretty strong willed. He's also not above playing a little dirty to get what he wants, so, it's just a matter of time, right?</p><p>[A modern day AU. Featuring Lilo besties; Sophia Smith-Payne, West End Starlet; Niall Horan, secret emotional savant; and two very adorable children under the age of six.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

Standing over the sink and sipping at his too-full mug of tea, Louis allows himself another thirty seconds to wallow in his own exhaustion. Thirty seconds to feel sorry for his pathetic Friday night, spent begging his toddler son to stop crying and sleep, begging the children's paracetamol to break the fever, begging his body to hold on just a little while more, to let him rock Owen just a tiny bit longer. Thirty seconds to mourn the hours of lost sleep, the bags under his eyes, the way his hair is half-wilting in his face and he's neither the time nor energy to fix it.

Today is a big day for the Tomlinson family -- his baby girl is meeting her very favorite pop-star-- and Louis has no time for self-pity, especially not once he's drained this mug of tea. He'll need to make sure Lise is up and getting dressed (if he knows anything about his five-year-old daughter, it's that she surely is), and bundle Owen into something resembling clean, warm clothing before packing him into the car for the journey to Liam and Sophia's house for the day. Louis feels terrible leaving a sick child with his best friends, but today is about Lise and her best friend Franny. And sick toddlers aren't allowed in the children's cancer ward at the hospital, anyway.

With one final, massive gulp of tea, Louis shakes his head, rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, then turns to make for Lise's bedroom.

"Lise, my baby girl, my heart, are you awake? Can Daddy come in please?"

The question is a formality, of course. He's been trying to respect Lise's autonomy since she was a wild three-year-old, asserting her independence through temper-tantrums over the choice of her shoes. (Lise spent a lot of time in ruby slippers that year, which Louis is sure is really normal for a little girl, but was worrisome to him at the time, because... Because as a newly single father, well, everything worried him at the time. Everything kind of still does.) But he's going into that bedroom right now whether Lise is in the mood to see him, or not.

"Yes, Daddy," Lise calls, just as he's reaching to push the door open anyway.

His tiny tow-headed child is standing over a pile of clothes that were decidedly not on her floor at bedtime, hands planted on her waist as she glances over her shoulder at her father and rocks her hips side-to-side. Her mother used to do that all the time when she was thinking -- that casual shifting of her weight from one hip to another -- and for a moment, Louis is nearly taken apart by the sight. But there's... right. No time.

"Lise, what are--"

"Daddy, I don't know what to wear," she huffs, brows furrowed somewhat adorably.

"Well, Leelee, what are you thinking of?"

"I have to look my best today," she begins, as if Louis didn't already know that. "But I think a party-dress will look silly at hopsital."

"You never look silly, my heart."

That's a blatant lie. Lise looks silly all the time. He's usually hopelessly endeared by it, though. By the way his little girl is so full of color and joy and lives so far apart from the kind of self-consciousness and judgment that adults quake under all the time. He wants her to stay this way forever, though he knows she can't. Even her mother -- the brightest, most confident woman he's ever known -- hadn't avoided the weight of self-doubt altogether.

"Daddy," she intones. "This is serious."

"I know, bug. I know," he replies, crouching beside Lise and pulling her against his side. He eyes the pile of clothes (turns out it's actually a series of outfits lined up in a half-circle around Lise's feet) and presses a kiss to her warm, soft temple. "Maybe it's best to wear your very favorites today, hmm? You always feel confident and powerful in your favorites, yeah?"

Louis tries not to focus just on looks with Lise. Not that there's anything wrong with beauty, or being beautiful. Louis happens to think his daughter is basically the most beautiful. It's just... the world focuses on beauty enough with little girls. And he wants her to know that other things are important, too.

"Mhmm," she replies, burying her little face in his neck as he squeezes her tight and reaches out for her favorite jeans -- leopard patterned blue jeans, with holes in the knees from a skateboarding accident without proper padding that landed her a very long time-out and a week without her skateboard -- a t-shirt in her favorite shade of green, and a knit motorcycle jacket. His daughter is nothing if not a bit badass. He's nothing if not more than a bit proud.

"Can I wear my new boots, Daddy?"

The eldest of his gaggle of younger sisters, Lottie, had given Lise a pair of Dr. Marten's she'd found in some secondhand shop in Camden just last week and Lise has been absolutely dying to wear them ever since.

"Sure, love. Just please put these other clothes away before you get dressed, okay? I need to go check on--" Louis is interrupted by a cry from Owen's bedroom, as though his son knows what he'd been about to say next.

"On OO, I know," Lise says, leaning down to begin snatching up the discarded outfits. "Daddy?" she asks.

"Lise?" he asks in return, glancing over his shoulder from the doorway.

"Can we buy Harry a present on the way to Franny's today?"

"I don't think... Lise, bug, I don't think this is about giving Harry a gift today. I think he's like... I think his visit is a gift for Franny, innit?"

"I know, Daddy. But it's so nice of him to come see Franny and me at hospital today. I just want to thank him properly."

Louis can't help the smile that creeps across his face. His daughter is the loveliest thing sometimes. Maybe he hasn't totally screwed her up just yet.

"What would you like to get him, bug? I'll see if we can make some time."

"Franny's mum read us a story from a magazine and Harry said sunflowers are his favorite. Can we get him some of those?"

"I think we can manage that, bug. Now hurry and get dressed. I'll go sort OO and we'll try to leave just a tiny bit early so we can find some flowers for Mr. Styles, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Lise exclaimed, smiling and jumping just a little bit as he closes the door behind him.

For half a second Louis allows himself to lean against Lise's door, just smiling and breathing, before squaring his shoulders and trooping off to Owen's room. Owen is a monster in the morning at the best of times, so this could be... Well. He's going to sort it, whatever it is. Because Lise is about to meet her very favorite pop star on earth, and after the months she's spent at her best friend's bedside, trying to wrap her five-year-old-brain around cancer, well, she deserves it. Louis won't let anything about this day go wrong.

  
***

 

Okay, so, Harry knows he's supposed to be 100% focused on the little girl in front of him. Franny is her name, and she's in hospital being treated for a brain tumor and it was her wish, her one wish, to meet him, which seems so foolish and sad and amazing at once that he hardly knows how to fathom it. But. But.

Another little girl has just bounced into the room -- this one blonde, and dressed like a very small, very sweet member of a motorcycle gang -- and she's being followed by the most attractive man Harry has ever seen. He's calling out apologies for their lateness, one hand on the little girl's shoulder, and when the man tilts his head up just-so, the harsh overhead lights dip shadows into the hollows below his perfect cheekbones, and Harry thinks his previous thought was only just a slight exaggeration. Really, honestly, it wasn't even like... that much of a thing. Because he's just caught himself literally fish-mouthing at the sight of this man, and... Shit. Shit.

"Harry, Harry!" Franny cries, tugging on his hand.

He looks down and is momentarily struck by how she's so... tiny. How she looks so tiny in this big bed-- his beanie dwarfing her little bald head, her eyes like saucers in her small, swollen face. And for half a second he manages to forget the beautiful brunette with the _face_ who just walked into the room.

"Yes, love?"

"That's Lise, Harry! That's my best mate Lise I was saying about," she smiles up at him, insistent, tugging on his hand again. "I call her Leelee, though. You can too, if you want."

"Ohhh," Harry says dramatically, as if he's only just now copping on to the connection between the tiny blonde girl and the Lise Tomlinson that Franny has been going on about for the better part of fifteen minutes. "So this is your partner-in-crime then, huh, Miss Franny?" he asks.

Franny giggles. She's been telling him about all the mad stuff Leelee has done to make her feel better during treatment, up-to and including a recent, wildly inappropriate race down the hospital corridor in a stolen wheelchair, and the time she hacked half her hair off with kitchen shears so she could make Franny a wig. Lise is currently sporting a sweet, slightly disheveled (but on-trend) asymmetrical bob in the aftermath of her failed wig-making attempt.

"Lise Tomlinson," the girl says, matter-of-factly, marching straight up to Harry and holding out her hand to shake. "This is my Dad, Louis, but he's just leaving, aren't you, Daddy?" she continues, still holding Harry's hand but glancing over her shoulder at her father with a sickly sweet smile.

The brunette -- err, Louis -- keeps his lips in a straight line, but if the shining in his eyes means what Harry thinks it does, he's at least somewhat amused by his daughter's behavior.

"Lise," he intones, a hint of warning in his voice, before looking up at Harry, and, god, the full force of those blue eyes on him has Harry trying to remember how his jaw works. "I'd offer a handshake, but..." Louis trails off, smiling kindly, if a bit sheepishly, and gesturing at the place where Lise's hand is still clutching at his. "In any case, I'm Louis Tomlinson and I just... Thank you. So much. I'm, ehm, I'm going to be outside but... Thank you."

Harry says nothing as Louis backs out of the room, smiling at him the whole time. He isn't... His jaw-- he like, can't manage it, still? Fortunately neither Lise or Franny seem disturbed by his sudden stiff silence/inability to make words, and he's pretty sure Franny's mum is just pretending not notice, which... Not much more he can ask for, really.

It takes a full thirty seconds for Harry to bring his brain back in line, and by then he gathers that Leelee and Franny have been talking at him non-stop. Mostly because Lise is waving a bouquet of sunflowers at him expectantly.

"Are these for me?" he asks, playing up his shock.

"Duh," Lise says. "S'what I just said, innit?"

"Lise Suzanne!" Louis calls from the hallway, where he's clearly been listening closely.

Harry can't help but bark out a short, sharp laugh.

"Dad!" she groans at the top of her voice before turning a sweet, megawatt smile in Harry's direction. "Sorry. They're just to say thank you. In the magazine you told that lady they're you're favorite, and--"

"They are my favorite, little love," Harry cuts her off, "and thank _you_."

&

An hour and a half later he's supposed to leave, and Franny is clearly getting tired, but he's so in love with these two little girls that he can't quite bear to go. They're coloring in this insane book Harry'd brought along with him that's got these crazy, gorgeous patterns on every page. He's realized now that it was a bit ambitious, thinking two five-year-olds would be capable of the patience required to color in such minute detail, and Franny's mom, Amy, had laughed and told him that coloring book was actually for adults. (Because adult coloring books are a thing?) But they've made quite a go of it, the three of them, and Harry is only too happy to watch Franny and Lise put their heads together and debate which color pencil to use next. They seem particularly fond of neon, which, well... Harry can't blame them. His briefs -- the ones on his body right this second -- are neon green. He's quite fond of them.

But not nearly as fond as he is of these two lovely, lively little girls, now bent back over the coloring book with different shades of bright yellow in hand.

He and Franny have been sharing a page, both of them intent on filling in the paisley pattern with perfect precision, but Lise has had a whole page to herself. She's ignored the lines completely and filled in swaths of bright color, careful never to overlap, and the jagged white spaces between her scribbled blocks of color are making a sort of pattern of their own. It's kind of beautiful, and he wonders if Lise has an eye for this, or if she's just winging it. If he's giving her just a bit too much credit for a five-year-old.

"Franny, duck, are you feeling tired?" Harry asks, when Franny's caught him staring. With a soft smile he reaches out and brushes his fingertips over her cheek and down under her jaw.

"No, no, Harry, I--" she begins to insist, looking a bit panicked as a yawn takes over her mouth. He can't help the fond smile that slips across his before she continues, "Please don't go, I'm not tired, promise!"

"You look pretty tired to me, duck," he replies, the faintest edge of gentle teasing at the edge of his voice.

"No, I--"

"Franny, baby, you need your rest. Let's thank Harry for coming and say goodbye," Amy, says carefully.

"NO, MUM!" Franny wails, and Harry winces unable to bear the sound.

"Frances," Amy intones.

"Franny, duck, please--" he pauses, casting her mum a pleading look before swiveling to face Franny again. "How's this? What if Lise and I let you have a bit of a kip now, but I come back in a few days and we color some more then? You and I make quite the team, you know."

"Oh, Harry," Amy sighs.

"It's no trouble at all," he offers, turning to face her, "I've not got much on right now. Just taking a break for a bit. And I've had such a lovely day. Please, if I could come back..."

Harry doesn't mean to make anyone cry. But he can hear Franny's tired, frustrated tears behind him, and see water welling up around the edges of Amy's eyes, and that just makes him feel worse.

"Please," he pleads, feeling embarrassingly like the five-year-old beside him.

"Course, Harry, yeah," Amy manages.

"Thank you," he whispers, swallowing hard to compose himself before turning back to face the girls. "So really, duck, no need to say goodbye. Please love, no more tears. I'll arrange another visit with your mum, and we can just say 'See you soon,' okay?"

"O-o-okay," Franny stutters around a fresh batch of tears -- and they are not breaking his heart, they are not -- as he leans in and kisses her forehead.

"Promise you'll keep my beanie safe, duck?" he asks, cupping her cheek in his hand for a beat before adjusting the hat on her head.

"Promise," she nods, biting into her lip.

"Okay, love, sleep well, then. I'll see you so soon."

Harry heads for the door and Amy follows to sort the exchange of phone numbers and talk about good times during the day for Franny to see visitors. Harry knows it's not all lie-ins and flower deliveries here at hospital and he doesn't want to be a bother. It's just. He can't imagine not seeing the girls again. Especially when he's got so much free time on his hands these next months. As long as it's no trouble for Franny and her family, he'd like to call round often as he can.

When everything is just about sorted, Harry's stomach lets loose a loud grumble that even Amy can't help but giggle at. Embarrassed, he squeezes his eyes closed and chuckles.

"Guess I could do with some food right about now."

"Sounds like it," Amy replies between laughs. "The caf here is pretty horrible, but there are a fair few good pubs in the area, I'll text you some names if you'd like, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah. And, ehm, would it be... Is it better if Lise stays, or...?" Harry doesn't really know how to ask what he wants but it's just... he hasn't forgotten Lise's handsome dad, and it'd probably be easier to convince him to join Harry for lunch with Lise's help. Amy stays silent and he feels himself rushing to fill the space. "It's just, I thought maybe it'd be a help if I invited Lise to lunch? Let Franny have some quiet, and..."

"Sure," Amy replies, smiling, but with one eyebrow raised, as if she knows exactly what Harry isn't willing to say out loud. "Franny, baby, give Lise a hug, you need to get some rest."

Harry smiles fondly, watching the girls transition from pouting in his and Amy's general direction -- giving in when it became clear the attempt was futile -- to grinning at each other and hugging goodbye with whispered words and musical giggles. He's always loved children, always wanted a thousand on his own -- or like, at least three -- but there's just something about these two that he can already tell he'll probably never get over. He thinks maybe it's their sense of hope, even in the face of something a big and scary and unknown as cancer. Even as they face loss every day. They remind him how lovely his life is, and he hopes he remembers that bit the next time he wants to kick a paparazzo in the bollocks or scream bloody murder into a pillow over some petty public slight. Which is obviously exactly why his mum suggested he get more involved in charity. Because mums really do always know best. Even when you're twenty-one.

"Hey Lise, do you think your Dad could be convinced to let me take you to lunch?" Harry asks, when she bounds up to him and throws her arms about his legs.

"Like on a date?" she asks, eyes wide, chin digging into his thigh, and... How does this five-year-old know what dates are?

"Aren't you a bit young for dating, Leelee?"

She doesn't even bother with an answer outside of one very expressive raised eyebrow, and maybe girls just learn this stuff earlier than boys? Or maybe he'd known all about dates when he was five and he's just forgotten. But she seems so small wrapped around his legs and he just can't fathom a world in which she's already worried about the disaster that is dating.

Best to deflect, then, it seems.

"Do dates usually involve dads, too?" he asks, scrunching his face up goofily and poking out his tongue.

Lise heaves a heavy sigh.

"No, silly."

"Well then I guess this technically won't be a date," he starts, near leaping to cover his tracks when he sees her beautiful blue eyes fall, "But I promise, button, you and I will have a date real soon, okay? I'll come pick you up at your house proper, like. As long as your Dad doesn't mind."

"Oh, he won't," she insists cheekily, unwinding herself from around his legs and grabbing one of his hands to drag him toward the door. "Bye Franny, see you later! Bye Mrs. Carr." she calls over her shoulder as Harry turns, laughing, to wave.

He hears Franny and Amy call their farewells from behind as he trips after the tiny, insistent blonde, half forgetting who awaits them in the corridor.

 

***

 

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Lise half-shouts, tearing out of the hospital room and throwing herself into his lap without even giving him a chance to prepare for her weight. He's lucky he put his iPad down in time.

"Ooof, Leelee," he grunts, then presses as kiss to the crown of her head. "Trying to crush Daddy?"

Louis doesn't have to look up to know it's Harry chuckling in the doorway to Franny's room. He's been pretending not to notice all the different shades of color in Harry's laugh for the last hour and a half. He's been trying to forget the way Harry caught him peeking around the door frame, staring sort of openly at a curl that had slipped over his eyes as he earnestly discussed the merits of neon colors with his daughter just twenty minutes ago. It was just... He was making sure his child wasn't being unaccountably rude and terrorizing the pop star who'd so generously given his time to Franny. Nothing to be embarrassed of.

"Daddy!" she exclaims.

"'S my name. What do you want, bug?"

"Hi," she chirps, pulling back just a touch to smile up at him. This is going to be bad, he can tell by the tone of her voice.

"I don't want anything, Daddy."

"Oh really? Then what was with that 'hi'?" he asks, giving his best impression of her flowery, saccharine tone.

"Well, Harry wants something, and I think you should be very nice about it, so..."

Harry chuckles from the doorway again.

"I'm always nice!" he exclaims, but Lise just stares back, unimpressed, as if she knows better.

At that Harry jumps in to the fray with an, "I appreciate your support, button, but I think your Dad is probably a pretty well-behaved guy."

At that, Louis can't help but raise an eyebrow over Lise's head, and... he shouldn't be issuing any sorts of challenges about his behavior. Because he is an adult, and a professional, and a father for chrissakes. But something warm pushes the pace in his heart, just then, and he can't stop himself from mouthing the word ' _Never_ ,' in Harry's direction. Harry's eyes widen comically, and he clutches at his heart.

"You wanted something, Harry?" Louis asks.

"Just wanted to see if you'd let me take you and Lise to lunch. I mean, mostly I just wanted to take Lise to lunch, but I hear it's frowned upon to steal children from their parents, so..." Harry trails off with a wink and Louis does not even want to think about how the pace in his heart reacts.

God. He's a million. And it's been a million years since he flirted with anyone. He doesn't even know why he's doing it now. There's no... There's no hope in it.

But maybe that's... Maybe that's it. That's why. Because there's no hope in it, it's just... easy. There's nothing really at risk with this child pop star in front of him. And it's fun. Fuck, it's fun. He's forgotten that, lately. The way this aimless banter can feel, how when there's nothing at stake, it's all the more enjoyable.

"Please, Daddy," Leelee pleads, tugging at the hair behind his ear, which she's wrapped around her little fingers.

"Well, Uncle Liam and Aunt Sophia do have OO for the day, so, I suppose I could be prevailed upon to join you two lovebirds for a meal."

"Excellent! There's a place I love over on St. Chad's Place, it's just near King's Cross. I can call for my car..."

"I've got my car round the back. You're welcome to ride with us, if that's easier," Louis offers.

"Oh please, Harry, please!" Lise pleads, leaping out of Louis' lap and bounding over to Harry with her hands clasped beneath her chin. "I can show you all my new Avengers!"

"Avengers?" Harry asks.

"Yeah, like the movies?"

Louis does not admonish his daughter. Because he is a good, kind father who understands that his five-year-old child is a bit young for comic books -- he's got stacks of them ready for her the instant she's old enough -- or for understanding the nuances of character, and whether they belong to a movie, or the written universe that predated that movie and... He is thinking about this way too much. He knows it, because when he clues back into the conversation, he's missed quite a lot. Or it appears he has, if the way Lise is escorting Harry down the hall toward the exit is any indication. She hasn't even spared her own father a glance.

 

***

 

"You know, I just figured out why I recognize this place," Louis muses, taking a sip of ice water and licking his lips in a way that Harry is trying very hard not to find distracting.

Lise is coloring on a pad of paper that Louis produced out of nowhere, tongue caught between her teeth and poking just out to the side. Earlier she'd denied the offer of some game or another on Louis' iPad and Louis had seemed impressed, shooting a shocked but happy smile in Harry's direction. They watched her color in silence for a few minutes, an in interpretive paisley blooming across the page, but with a kiss on the head, and a press of hair behind her ear, Louis seemed determined to let Lise be.

"Really?" Harry asks interestedly, spinning the stem of his wine glass around between his fingers.

"Yeah. I was here for a wedding ages ago. It was set up all differently, decorated, too, but this is definitely the place where my ex-boyfriend got married."

Harry could honestly fall to the ground in praise of the wonders of the lord. Louis is gay. Harry _knew_ Louis had been flirting with him earlier, with those sparks in his eyes and the wicked joke about being badly behaved. But it's just... children. There are children. And maybe it's 2016, but it's still just safest to assume someone with children has a lady somewhere in the picture. Especially for Harry's poor heart, which has a tendency to swan-dive into the chronically unavailable, or the wildly inappropriate.

"Seems," he begins, needing to pause for a second to clear his throat and bring his voice back down into a normal register. "Seems like a lovely place for a wedding."

"It was, from what I remember. He married an American, and, god bless their tradition of having open bars, I hardly remember much of anything past dinner, but..."

Harry chuckles into his glass before taking another sip.

"Seems pretty big of you to attend an ex's wedding," Harry offers. Louis gets a faraway look in his eyes, and Harry realizes in that second that he could spend a lot of time cataloging the changes to Louis Tomlinson's eyes without ever tiring.

"He'd been... Really, really good about the end of our relationship," Louis sighs and sips at his wine for a moment. "I-- The end of my relationship with Aiden was not what I'd call my finest moment. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I'd fallen in love with someone else, really, almost without realizing it. And I was hurting them both. My wife-- god, Nora, she let me know it. Never let me forget it, really, though it did become something of a joke between us eventually. But no, I... I'd fallen in love with Nora while Aiden and I were still together and I just... I was so slow to cop on. Anyway. Aiden was a saint about it, sort of pushed me to Nora without me realizing it completely, and we ended up somehow maintaining a close friendship. All down to Aiden, I'm afraid. Nora too, most likely. I'm sort of terrible at those things. But I was really happy to see him happy, you know? He and his husband live in America now, New York, really. Adam orchestrates and music directs on Broadway."

"Oh, is that all he does?" Harry teases, pasting on what he hopes is a winning smile. One that covers the way he's felt his heart plummet from his chest to the floor beneath Louis' perfect feet. This is probably a new record for him in terms of the heights he'd allowed his hopes to soar to in the minute and a half it had taken for Louis to go from mentioning an ex-boyfriend to mentioning his current wife. Harry really, really needs to change the subject. "So what do you do for a living, Louis? Anything to do with the theatre?"

Louis chuckles. "No, no. Not me, not anymore. Though my best mate's wife is a West End actress, actually. If you follow theater, you might know her name-- Sophia Smith-Payne?"

"Oh! She was just... She was nominated for an Olivier last year, wasn't she?"

"She was! For her performance in King Charles III."

"I saw that one, actually. I'm not... I don't see a huge amount of theater, myself. Never enough time. But a mate dragged me over there because he's friendly with Oliver Chris. She was great!"

"That's our Sophia. I've been best mates with her husband Liam since uni, and I met Sophia when we were in the theater program there, too. Introduced her to Liam meself, in fact. But you ehm, you asked what I do..." he trails off with a little chuckle before beginning again, "I'm the Creative Director of an agency called Keep Calm, which I founded with Liam, actually. It started when we were in uni, promoting stuff about campus. We put together these packs of information on art installations and our plays and concerts and just entertainment stuff, and then shoved in like... condoms and other things, art prints, the like. Distributed them around campus. That got really huge, and whilst we were growing that business we also started making like... well, today we call them Viral Videos. Back then it was just shit we put on YouTube. Didn't have a name really, just Liam filming me and some other actor mates being complete loons on camera. But over time that evolved into creating content FOR people. For brands and stuff. And now we do viral content of all types, plus some PR stunts, too. Produced a TV show on the BBC for a bit, as well. Won a BAFTA for that, actually. Few years back. Anyway, I'm just... god. I'm rambling. What's... let's... I need to shut me mouth. Let's talk about you."

Harry can't help but laugh and the sound escapes him in that way where it sounds more like a bark than a laugh. He used to be embarrassed of it -- at least until millions of people worldwide seemed to be charmed by it -- and now he mostly just accepts it. But if his horrible laugh will keep making Louis' whole face light up like that, well, he'll learn to love it. He'll laugh it all the time.

"You're... You don't need to shut your mouth. You'd be shocked at how refreshing it is to just listen these days. I'm horribly tired of the sound of my own voice."

"Better keep it down, mate. I think you'll break quite a few hearts with that news. At the very least, Lise will be gutted," he says, gesturing to Lise who looks up from her coloring pad. Harry had forgotten she was there, which probably makes him an asshole.

"Gutted about what, Daddy?" Lise asks, and Louis shoots him a teasing grin, as if to say ' _see_ ,' but they're saved from having to answer by the waitress, who arrives with their meals.

There's a bit of a kerfluffle getting Lise's drawing things packed away fast enough for the waitress to deposit their plates and then Lise wants to know every single thing about the dish Harry has ordered (Steak Frites) and then she wants to steal half his frites and Louis is admonishing her before Harry even has the chance to indulge her and everything feels so easy, despite the fact that Harry can't remember if he's ever actually dined in a restaurant with a child Lise's age. Leaning back in his seat as Louis wraps Lise's hand around her fork and cajoles her into focusing on her own plate, Harry knows he's going to hate that easy feeling soon enough. Because it's not going to go away. And Louis is a married man. Another one in a long line of heart-stoppers that will never be his.

Wasn't becoming a pop-star supposed to make all of this easy? Where had he gone wrong?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hi, welcome.
> 
> My name is Loose. I'm a bit obsessed with Kidfic, and 1D, and I've been working on this story forever (okay, since April) so I'm excited to finally share it.
> 
> As you can see, it's a WIP, but I'm more than halfway through writing, so I've got plenty of content ready to go, and am hoping to post on a regular schedule. Right now I'm aiming for once weekly in the Thursday/Friday/Saturday area. (We'll see how that goes. I have a Big Bang to write, too. But I promise to keep you in the loop.)
> 
> Of note: As an author I really struggle with Trigger Warings. I don't want to spoil the content of this story and I've structured it very purposefully to teach you more about these characters over time. I don't want you to know certain things they don't know about each other, or themselves, before they do, because ultimately, this is a story about two people discovering themselves-- as individuals, and as a unit. I want your journey as a reader to mirror that, too. That said, there is a character who does not appear within the story, but who is discussed, who passed away. So if the loss of a character isn't something you can manage, I wanted to try to respect the way this community operates and give you a heads up. The choice to continue reading, and learning about these two (and their universe, their orbit) is entirely yours.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> More soon.  
> xL


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

\-- _Dinner's at ours_ , was all Sophia's text had said, but Louis, he knows an order when he sees one.

So, with a pit-stop to nab a bottle of Sophia's favorite red at his local off-license and another to drop the car at home, he and Lise make the five-minute walk to Liam and Sophia's house hand-in-hand. It's silly to drive between their houses, really, being just up the block and around the corner from one another. But the added benefit of arriving on foot is that, should Louis over-indulge, he won't be tempted to get behind the wheel.

After lunch with Harry Styles, Louis thinks he might over-indulge.

He might just put a straw in this bottle of Zinfandel and go to town, actually.

"We're here, we're here!" Lise shouts, kicking off her shoes impatiently and dashing down the front hall toward the kitchen at the back of the house.

"Who's we?" Liam calls, popping up near the kitchen door, as if he genuinely doesn't know.

"Me and Daddy, duh. Don't be silly Uncle Leemo!" Lise responds, throwing herself against Liam and burying her face in his t-shirt.

"I will kill you for teaching this child to call me Leemo, Lou. I really will."

"I don't believe you," he replies, going in for a hand-shake, back-tap, bro-hug and making sure to squish Lise between them good and tight.

"Daddy! You're crushing me!" she giggles, trying to wiggle away.

"I beg your pardon, young lady, I was including you in our hug!" he teases back, swooping down to pull her up into his arms and tickling her side at the same time.

"Daddy, daddy, stop!" Lise cries, howling with laughter in earnest now as she flails in his arms.

"What's this racket?" Sophia calls out, rounding the bottom of the stairs with a sleepy-looking-but-conscious Owen in her arms. His cheek has a touch of rash where he'd probably drooled in his sleep.

"Daddy-- won't stop-- tickling me," Lise wails dramatically. "Help, Auntie Soph, help!"

"Sorry, kiddo, my hands are full," Sophia replies on a smile, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek when Louis has finally returned Lise on the ground.

"How's my best boy doing, hmm?" he asks, reaching to take Owen into his arms and brush kisses across his forehead. "Still a bit feverish, I see. Missed you today, OO."

"Hi, Daddy," he replies, before burying his face into Louis' neck. Louis closes his eyes, sighs, and presses another kiss to the crown of Owen's head.

"OO slept a lot today," Sophia updates him, running a hand over the back of the toddler's head sympathetically. "But his cough isn't any worse, and the fever is nearly down to nothing. It's only just over 99 now, right bubs?" she asks, now rubbing gently at Owen's back. Owen nods, his face still buried in Louis' neck. He does seem to feel a little less warm than he had in the morning.

Louis twists his torso back and forth, one of Owen's favorite rocking motions, resting his cheek against the toddler's head and breathing deep and slow. Owen is... god, it feels like he's sick all the time. Louis knows that's not the case. Knows the doctors have told him there's nothing to worry about. But Louis hasn't gotten a proper night's sleep in a hundred years and Owen's usually the one keeping him awake and it's different than it was with Leelee, and not just because Nora is gone and he's doing it on his own. He loves this child so much there aren't even words that adequately express it, but already Owen is testing him in a way he just wasn't expecting. And he's not yet three.

"Well, bean, looks like we're going to have to shine it on for a little while yet," Louis murmurs, watching as Sophia scoops Lise up into her arms.

"So, Miss Leelee, I hear you met someone very special today, and I've also been promised a full report, so..." Sophia trails off, carrying Lise into the kitchen.

"So?" Lise asks, a bit teasingly.

"Must I beg, Leelee? Or bribe? Will a cup of cocoa do the trick?"

"Auntie Soph! You can't spoil her appetite before dinner!" Louis gasps, teasing, and hoping to make the idea all the more appealing to Lise. Dinner won't be for at least an hour and Lise will need a kick to her blood-sugar if they're going to avoid a meltdown before then, Louis can already tell.

"Hush, you. I can do what I want in my own house with my own favorite niece!"

"Auntie Soph, I'm your only niece!" Leelee giggles, slipping down and climbing into the window seat, settling on her knees and resting both her palms on the kitchen table.

"Doesn't mean you're not still my favorite, love. So how about I make you some cocoa and you tell me all about that Harry Styles fellow you met today?" Sophia presses, booping Lise on the nose and shooting a wicked glance in Louis' direction. He's suddenly very grateful both of his children are around to save him from that knowing look (though how Sophia could know _anything_ is beyond him).

"Can I have marshmallows _and_ cream?"

"Of course, my love," she replies, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially across the table. "Only we can't tell your father, okay?" She winks at Louis as she crosses the kitchen toward the kettle. "Now quick, start talking. I want to hear everything before dinner!"

&

After dinner, and dessert, when Owen is asleep against Liam's chest and Lise is slow-blinking, curled up on the couch in front of a movie, Sophia pours Louis two fingers of bourbon and settles across the table, poking him with her toe. Like lightening his hand shoots out to grab hold of her foot in warning.

"So, Harry Styles is pretty fit, huh?" she asks.

"Obviously," he replies, releasing her foot with a final squeeze, and taking a casual sip of his drink.

"Alright, Lou. I'm going to cut the crap and give it to you straight right now. Because you and I both know we could play this vague-back-and-forth game all night, and these two will have you up early-as-can-be in the morning. I know lunch wasn't on the original calendar for today. And I know that sort of dreamy look you had on your face while Leelee gave me the blow-by-blow of her entire day. So I'm going to need you to spill."

"Soph," he sighs.

"Everything. Spill everything."

The thing with Sophia is... She loves him. He knows she does. And he loves her. He knows he does. She's not just his best friend's wife. She was his wife's best friend. And with Nora gone, she's taken up the mantle of his happiness, which he appreciates, honestly. Even when sometimes he wants to stuff an entire loaf of bread in her mouth and run like hell when she tries to shove him back out into the world of dating and relationships. As if he has the time. Or the inclination. He already can't buy a full night's sleep. He's supposed to add hours of staring at the ceiling pining/obsessing over the wording of his last, unanswered text? Louis thinks not.

Sophia disagrees.

"Soph, he's a child and a pop-star, I'm not sure what you think was going on there. Yes, he's handsome. I will wax poetic about his gorgeous green eyes, if you really want me to. Or the way his hair curls, and there's like... this spot just behind his ear where it coalesces into these huge, beautiful, perfect ringlets. And fuck, his lips--" he pauses, catching himself just as he's about to go too far. Give it all away. "God. Soph, this stuff is all available on the internet. Teenage girls and boys the world over could tell you everything I learned today. It's not... It's not a thing."

"' _And fuck, his lip_ s,' kind of sounds like a thing, Lou."

"So he's fit."

"And it sounds like he's pretty into your daughter."

"Who is FAR too young to be dating him," he fires back, already knowing Sophia won't let him get away with joking, but trying anyhow.

"He's gay, you knob, the entirety of Britain knows that. Why are you being such a tit about this, Lou?"

"I just feel like you're trying to push something, Soph. And it's just... First, you know I hate the pushing. But also, this is Harry Styles. He's an international superstar."

"And you're a BAFTA winner, who runs one of the most sought-after creative agencies in the UK, with a best friend who is a West End Starlet."

"Starlet's a bit of a stretch now, innit, Soph? Aren't you pushing thirty?"

"I NEVER!" she gasps.

"Don't make me get involved in this, Lou. You know I don't support her meddling, but if you're going to have a go at my wife..." Liam warns.

"Whatever, I'm just saying, he's not got... This is a person whose lifestyle just doesn't jive with mine, Soph. Even if I _was_ into him, which I'm not saying I am, he's touring the globe and partying his face off in town on the nights when he's home, and that's all fine. But I'm a father, now. That's not the kind of life I'm looking for."

"Oh fine," Sophia sighs. "If I leave off, will you admit to having the tiniest little thing for him?"

"Nope."

"Alright, will you at least wax poetic about his eyes, then?"

Louis feels himself crack. Sophia means well. She knows exactly what losing Nora did to him, and she just wants him to be happy and loved. She just... Doesn't really know what it means to be a parent. How that's changed the way Louis looks at the world. The things that hold him back now... It's about so much more than just the hours he'd spend dating that he'd rather devote to his children.

"They are so bloody green, Soph, it's a little disorienting. I don't think I've ever seen anything like them."

"Everyone knows that, Boo," Sophia presses, Louis shoots Liam a scowl, as is standard any time someone uses that nickname. It's Liam's fault anyone even knows about it. "Give me something I can't find on the internet."

"They're... they're really expressive. No, stop, don't shout at me I'm not done yet!" he insists, predicting Sophia's pout. "It's just. I didn't even understand what that meant until now, I think. Not even just with Harry, but just... in general. Nora--" he pauses, swallowing back a sudden lump, "You know how she was. Her whole face, she emoted with her whole face. But Harry... stuff passes through his eyes like they're a direct line to his heart or something."

Sophia hums, sipping her whiskey, and in the silence, Louis finds himself continuing to speak.

"It's wild. It's... distracting. He can be really quiet, and kind of still... Just like... He looks at you, and it's like he's looking into you and you want to look away, but you kind of can't -- because _those eyes_ \-- and you forget what you were even on about a bit, and I-- oh my god, I had the most insane verbal diarrhea..." Louis trails off, letting his head thunk to the table beside his glass, next words spoken into his lap. "He just kept making these like... leading statements, and then staring at me with the eyes and I just... Talked. So much. I talked so much. Fuck, Soph."

"This sounds like a thing, Lou."

"It's not. Unless your definition of 'a thing' is 'a conversation that made me realize how much utter nonsense I talk,'" he groans, "Nothing to make you cop how full of shite you are like someone who actually listens." Sophia giggles quietly. "Stop laughing at me. I made an enormous arse out of myself in front of a famous person today."

"Lou, do you even remember the BAFTAs?" Liam pipes up.

"No," he moans miserably. Which is true.

"Suppose not," he laughs, "You were completely off your head. Anyhow. You had some pretty choice words for Dame Helen Mirren and I think Nora actually prayed, out loud, for the floor to open and swallow her whole, so... I'm just saying, it could have been worse."

"Except I don't remember marking an arse of myself in front of Helen Mirren, so really, this was worse."

"Fair," Liam gives in.

Louis sits up, taking a very large sip of bourbon and watching his best friend press his nose against his his son's hair and inhale deeply, eyelids fluttering closed. It brings a smile to his face, and he find himself cutting his eyes across the table to check Sophia's reaction. The smile on her face looks far away as she takes a big breath.

"Whatever. It's fine. I'm sure I'll never see him again," he says, slipping down in his seat and taking another swig of his drink.

"Lise made it sound like you'd be seeing a lot of him," Sophia puts in.

"I know he said he'd call round the hospital again, but I can't imagine I'll be seeing much of him meself, which is for the best, like. Harry Styles does not need to hear any more of my life story. If there's even anything left I didn't tell him..."

Liam barks a laugh at that, and Owen jolts awake.

"Oops, sorry, bubs. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Daddy?" Owen asks.

"Over here, bean," he replies, sitting up and downing the last of his bourbon before he pushes back from the kitchen table to retrieve his son. "You ready for your bed, OO?" he asks, taking Owen from Liam and tucking him into his chest. Owen nods silently. "Soph?" he asks.

"I got it, Lou," Liam says, standing as well.

While Liam gathers Owen's things and gently wakes Lise for the walk home, Louis hums into his son's hair, the song Nora used to sing him every night, soothing Owen back into sleep. Sophia takes their glasses to the sink, leaning over it and speaking more to the window than to Louis, though her words are for him.

"I'm not trying to be a pain in the arse, Lou."

He sighs, "I know, Soph, I know."

"I know you miss her, still. And I know you love the kids. And I'm not trying to say those things aren't important. Maybe more important that I can ever totally understand. But I just... I don't want you to hide, love. I'm afraid you've started to hide."

"I'm not hiding Soph. I love you, and I know you mean well. But I. This isn't about me hiding."

"He's a child, and a bad match, I get it."

"It's not even that, Soph. It's just... Not there. I don't think there's anything there," he sighs, "Today was lovely. I had a wonderful time. But it's not... There's not some secret thing between us I'm trying to hide from you. There's not some secret thing I'm trying to hide from you every time I meet a beautiful person."

"I know," she sighs in return, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Okay, okay, Li has OO's things and Lise in her boots. Take my little loves home. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"G'night, Sophia," he says, turning to press a kiss to her cheek. "I love you very much a lot. Even when you're a giant pain in my arse."

The walk home is quiet, even Lise is too tired to talk, walking so close beside him she keeps bumping into the side of his leg. When he can spare a hand, Louis reaches down to brush the baby-soft hair at the top of her head with his fingertips, but mostly he just tries to keep the bag on his shoulder and Owen still enough to stay asleep. With any luck, the house will stay quiet all night, Lise and Owen both sleeping through till morning. For now, though, he'll take from this moment whatever he can get.

 

***

 

"Oh my god, Haz, that's fuckin' obnoxious, you're doing my head in," Niall groans.

As if to prove he won't be bossed about by anyone else tonight, Harry crunches another ice cube aggressively between his back teeth, leaning a little closer to Niall as he does it.

They're drinking free cocktails in the back corner of one of London's trendiest hotel bars because Harry's label told him they should. Well, technically they told Harry he should go mingle -- _Get that Grammy campaign started, Harry!_ \-- and only mentioned the whole free-drinks part as a way to sweeten the deal (which he then used to bribe Niall to joining him). But that's neither here nor there. Because there is seriously no way Harry is campaigning for anything tonight. Seriously.

It's only January, for chrissakes. This year's Grammys haven't even happened yet, and Harry's album isn't even... it's not even a thing. It's some ideas on paper, really. Ones he's not so sure how he feels about, just yet. And he just can't. It feels so _foolish_ to be here, thinking of the next cycle, when this one isn't even over yet. And it's not like he's even presenting or attending this year and... He's just not doing it. He's not. He won't.

He's here to show is face, because he's pretty sure the label will be mad at him otherwise, and that's just not a fight he's willing to have. But that's all. He's showing his face and having some pretty fucking exemplary cocktails, and then he's hightailing it home. Where he can breathe and sleep and stare at the walls until this album starts to make sense to him. Until he can feel it come to life in him, around him.

He'll think about the Grammys again when he has a handful of songs he doesn't hate. When he's turned the past few years' heartbreak into an album he can feel proud of. An album he can live inside and tour again for the next few years. That's when he'll play the game again.

For now he kind of needs to hide. Which is exactly why he and Niall are tucked away in the darkest corner, far from the bar and the door. Even if he's bored out of his goddamn mind. And long overdue for a refill from the waitress who is honestly nowhere to be seen.

"Seriously, fuckin' stop,"Niall warns.

"I'm bored Ni," he whines.

"Can't imagine crunching ice is actually entertainin'."

"No, but annoying you is."

"You're such a tosser. Why can't you just go make some new friends or summat? That'd be entertaining. Isn't that why we're here anyway? Networking?"

"I don'wanna," he whines again as Niall swirls his double old-fashioned glass on the table.

"How much time did you spend with those kids today, Haz?" he asks, finally looking up. "I swear you've become one."

"Shuttup, Ni."

"Honestly. Go network, Harry. This pouting is ridiculous--"

"You go network!"

"I'm not the one with the big fancy career to maintain."

"Aw, Ni, don't be so hard on yourself. Playing in my band is pretty fancy after all," he coos, leaving squishy, smoochy kisses all over Niall's cheek.

"I actually hate you, Harry," he responds, intercepting Harry's next kiss with his hand and pushing Harry away. "Get the fuck out of my face."

"What if we just went home?" Harry muses.

"After you dragged my arse all the way out here? I think not. 'Sides, the label will tear you a new one. You skipped the last four events they RSVP'd you for."

Harry grumbles.

"Hey," Niall nudges him, "Check out the bloke at 4 o'clock, he's exactly your type. Go say hi."

And the thing is. Niall is right. The guy -- err, man -- is almost a clone of Harry's last boyfriend, Sam, who was an awful lot like the boyfriend before that, Hugh, who was, well... Harry's had a bit of a type these last few years. And this guy -- whoever he is -- fits that type to a T. Broad, v-shaped, well coiffed, suited and booted in Savile Row's finest. With more than a hint of salt in his pepper-black hair and a powerful grip on his tumbler of whiskey, neat, he's the kind of man who would normally have Harry biting his lip and batting his lashes and grazing his hand over the stranger's inner arm. Have him salivating over just the _idea_ of getting those strong, sophisticated, _mature_ fingers up his arse.

Normally.

Tonight he's just... preoccupied, really. It's part of why he's so bored. Because normally, Harry can make conversation with a brick wall. Find some way to entertain himself at an event like this, even if it's just talking shite about the arseholes around them with Niall. And when there's a man like _that_ around, well, Harry's usually got his hands full, as it were.

But tonight, he can't be bothered. Because none of these people are the one person who he wants to see.

None of these people are Louis Tomlinson. Father. Creative Director. Power-house producer in possession of two of the most beautiful blue eyes Harry has ever seen and a pile of brown hair Harry wants to be touching right the fuck now. It looked really soft.

And Harry knows -- he _knows_ \-- how hopeless this is. Because Louis is married. To a woman. To the mother of his beautiful fucking child. And there is just nowhere for any of these feelings to go. This longing is going to do absolutely nothing but hurt Harry in the long run and he knows that. He does. But fuck if he can stop it right now. It's like he blinked and someone tattooed Louis into the backs of his eyelids.

He's pathetic.

There was just... Harry could have sworn there was something there. That he wasn't the only one who felt it. That Louis had flirted right back at him. No. That Louis had flirted _first_. And it's not every day that Harry feels this way. Sure, he's been known to fall fast. He's _optimistic_ , okay? But he's never... This just felt different. Like Louis had made his world skip a beat.

Oh god he's _pathetic_.

"Haz?"

"I'm pathetic, Niall," he groans, dropping his face into his arms where they rest crossed on the table.

"Ah, sure, you're not pathetic, Haz."

"I can't stop thinking about them. Him."

"Him? The father?"

"The father. Louis."

"What about him?"

Harry says nothing, but in the end, he doesn't need to.

"No. Haz. No," Niall insists. Harry sits up just in time to be shoved. "He's got a kid!"

"And a wife, I know, it's..."

"Christ. This one is even more unavailable than your usual."

"Niall," he groans again, dropping his head back to rest on top of the booth.

"Haz. I love ya, but you have got to get better taste."

"Says the guy encouraging me to hit on one of the usuals only five minutes ago."

"Fuck off, I was trying to distract you. Besides, I have no way of knowing if he's toxic or unavailable. I was suggesting you find that out for yourself. And if he were one of those things, I'd also suggest you run in the opposite direction. Quickly."

"I think you'd be shocked how not-my-usual-type Louis is. He's like--"

"I think that doesn't matter, because he's married," Niall cuts him off.

Harry continues, unperturbed, "Smaller, and prettier, and he's _so_ not posh. And he's powerful, like, but in this totally different way, and..."

"Haz."

"What?"

"I love you mate, and because I love you, I'm going to stop you right there."

Harry deflates completely. Niall is... an unfailing and unflinching optimist. He doesn't usually stop Harry in his tracks like this, especially not when it comes to his fantasies. But Harry knows. The last breakup, with Sam, hadn't felt like any of the others. Had maybe been an accumulation of all the sublimated feelings he never addressed after all the others, or something. It had just been so _big_. It had taken him down so far. Niall's been a bit more protective of him since then. And if Niall is stepping in now, if he wants Harry to forget about Louis, he knows he really, really should.

"I shouldn't want him, I know."

"I don't normally say shite like that, you know me, I think like... you do you. Or Yolo or Fomo or whatever the fuck we kids are supposed to be saying today. But there's a difference between wanting him, and thinking you can have him, like."

For a moment, Harry just stares at his best friend. He's the kind of guy who lets you forget, all the time, how smart he is. Who doesn't need to prove himself when he walks into a room. Who just... knows. He knows himself. And he likes himself. And he's happy to seem like the life of the party, or the jocular best mate, or whatever the situation calls for. But every once in a while, he drops a knowledge bomb so devastatingly accurate and deceptively deep that reminds you who he is on the inside.

"Just... Don't confuse the two, alright?" Niall asks. Harry shakes his head a bit and turns a smile at Niall.

"Niall James Horan, you are the very best this sad world has to offer," he says, before slipping down in the booth dropping his head to rest against Niall's shoulder.

"I know, mate, I know," he says, slinging an arm around Harry and giving him a squeeze. "I'll be here all night, and I accept tips in the form of fresh booze or crisp 100 pound notes."

Niall plays with the ends of Harry's long curls while Harry gives the room one long, last stare. Even if he's not confusing wanting Louis with having Louis, Harry is done with this night.

"I know we shouldn't but... Can we go, Ni? I'm so over this whole thing."

"Yeah, mate, we can go," Niall agrees, a bit sadly, though Harry knows the sadness isn't because Niall doesn't want to go.

He chooses to ignore his best friend's concerned eyes and begins to slide out of the booth, stopping once to snap a picture of a line of Sipsmith gin bottles resting atop the tufted banquette, before striding out of the room without looking back. In his car, Harry filters the photo with something dark and moody and posts it to his public Instagram. He knows he's being a bit of a shill, given that Sipsmith had sponsored the event. And it feels semi-grimy to give them the promo for free, but the bottles were gorgeous against the banquette and the vintage wallpaper and even in his maudlin mood, Harry can't resist a good pun.

"Pine. Piney. Pining." he captions the photo, then shoves the phone in his back back pocket and lets his eyes slip shut. He's going to get this under control in the morning -- the confusing line between wanting and having -- but for now, he's going to let his feelings be whatever they want to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, team!
> 
> Sorry for the update delay this week. Turns out having plans every single night after work (and staying out till 3am on weeknights) is exhausting! And it doesn't leave a lot of time for writing, either. Funny, that. Anyhow. I'm hoping for an earlier update this next week, but I'll be traveling a bit for my college roommate's wedding -- get at me Toronto! -- so things could be a bit hairy once again? Plus, I'm working on my Big Bang story this week, so... yeah. It's a lot.
> 
> But here's the realsauce, yo, I am SO EXCITED to see that like... people are reading and kudos-ing and commenting and god it makes me so happy that there just are not even any words. I love this story, and I can't wait to share more, and I'm just really glad you're here, okay? Okay! So there will be more as soon as I can manage. There's still so much left up my sleeve.
> 
> And thanks, again, for reading you lovely, lovely creatures.
> 
> xL
> 
> ps. Extra thanks to [hannasmiled](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hannasmiled) and [fleetofships](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fleetofships/pseuds/fleetofships), without whom this story could not exist, and would, at the very least, be written half in gibberish. I love you both to the moon and stars and back again.


	3. Chapter 3

After that first visit, Lise came home with at least one story a week about Harry. (Apparently he was calling round to see Franny near daily.) Some of Lise's stories were second hand, but the number of tales that began with "Daddy, Daddy, Harry said..." or "Daddy, guess what Harry did!" increased regularly.

Louis saw him in passing a time or two, but mostly, he and the pop-star were like ships in the night, and frankly, it was kind of a relief. He hadn't lied to Sophia, exactly, because Louis truly believed there was... nothing there. That there couldn't be. It didn't matter what kind of warm weight had settled in his belly, or how is heartbeat had shifted when Harry came near. It didn't matter how much he'd let himself flirt. He and Harry were too different, and their lives... There was just no way. It was impossible for him to even fathom.

But it's like Sophia had put _her_ idea in _his_ head. That maybe it wasn't the most ridiculous thing in the world to want this boy. To think that if he tried, he might find a way he could have him. And it just won't go away. So avoiding Harry just generally seems the best course of action, really. Because in that direction -- the Harry direction -- lies nothing but pining and heartache. Heart _break_. Louis resolutely does not have time for any of those things.

In fact, right now, he barely has time to think straight, or look up from his phone to properly navigate the corridors of Great Ormond Street Hospital Hospital toward Franny's room. Because he's got to respond to a text from a frantic copywriter he left in the office Right Now or he'll never remember, and God only knows what kind of disaster will result. Then he's got to fetch Lise and run because they're already late. And it's just as he's recalling how horrifically late he is that Louis rounds the last corner and nearly plows into someone. Because of course.

"Woah," that someone says, reaching out to steady them, and he'd recognize that voice -- and those spike heels -- just about anywhere.

"Soph, what are you doing here?" he asks, pocketing his phone as he flicks hair away from his eyes in a huff.

Instead of answering, she whispers " _fuck me_ " under her breath, ignoring Louis entirely and looking at something over his shoulder.

Before Louis even turns, he knows who must be behind him. Because no one else in this hospital is that breathtaking. And because this is Sophia, who he's known for a decade now-- she is nothing if not predictable.

"Louis?" comes Harry's voice, tentative at first, then bright as Louis looks over his shoulder and their eyes meet, "Hey."

Louis wants to reach inside his chest and squeeze his heart until it stops racing. Teach it a lesson.

"H-- Harry, hi, I, this is--" he stutters, spinning around in a slight panic. His fucking heart needs to cut it out.

"Sophia," she cuts in, elbowing Louis out of the way to take Harry's outstretched hand.

"Soph, what are you doing here? I know I didn't ask you to--" Louis begins to ask, ignoring Harry and staring at their joined hands.

"Smith-Payne, right? I saw you in _King Charles III_ , you were amazing!" Harry gushes.

"Oh my god, thank you! Aren't you just the sweetest thing," she exclaims clutching her chest with one hand and giving Harry a playful shove with the other.

"Soph--" Louis hisses out the side of his mouth.

"Seriously. I loved the whole show, but you were just... Brilliant. So brilliant."

"Oh stop it!" she gushes, clutching Harry's bicep and shooting Louis a shit-eating grin, "Louis, you didn't tell me how sweet this boy is."

"You didn't?" Harry asks. "I'm wounded, Lou."

Louis closes his eyes. Because he cannot take that faux-hurt look on Harry's face. It's. It's too good and it kind of hurts Louis and why is this happening? Why is _any of this_ happening? He knows he didn't ask Sophia to fetch Lise this evening. If he had, he wouldn't have dashed out of the middle of a design review in a panic and sped wildly to the hopsital to retrieve her himself and run before Owen's nursery closes and he's in trouble _again_ for being late.

"Soph, please let go of the popstar," he says, gritting the words out through a smile and tugging at her hand. "I'm sure he needs that arm for something. And what are you even doing here? I know I didn't ask you to pick Leelee up today."

"Thought I'd pop by and see my little love, of course. Maybe meet this Harry she's been on about for weeks," Sophia says, oozing charm out every pore. "I think someone's in love," she adds suggestively before winking. And that. That is just too much.

"Okay! Great. You've met Harry, he's lovely, now it's time to go!" he grabs Sophia's arm to yank her into his side, then whispers in her ear. "Please Soph, don't push, not in front of him. Please."

"Oh come on, Louis, don't be so unsociable!" she exclaims, slipping out of his grip. "Harry and I've only just met. We've got so much to chat about!"

"Soph," he pleads.

"I mean, if he's going to join the family, don't you think we should get to know him better?" she asks, blinking her comically wide, hilariously (un)innocent eyes dramatically.

Louis stares at her dryly. This is not... He can't even answer her. There are no words. And this is the worst -- the most meddle-y -- Sophia has ever been.

"I promise, Louis, I won't steal your daughter!" Harry rushes to fill the silence, a bit of a hesitant tremor to his voice as he looks over Louis' shoulder toward Franny's room.

"Oh, Lise isn't the--"

"Soph!" Louis near-shouts, his heartrate beginning to skyrocket in his chest as his stomach plummets.

Harry raises an eyebrow at Louis, confused and looking to him for cues. Louis wants to disappear.

Sophia Smith-Payne is going to die at his hand. It's that simple. Louis is going to kill her. But until he can get Sophia alone and end her life he... He has no idea how to get out of this.

"Is everything...?" Harry asks, making the fragment a question, because obviously he has no idea what to even say. Because Louis is behaving like a loon and Sophia is the worst.

"Breathe, Lou, I'm only joking," she insists, rolling her eyes in Harry's direction before turning the charm back up to thirty-seven, "What's got your knickers in such a twist? I thought you and Leelee might like a surprise visit."

"Right, sure, because that's totally why you're here..."

"Lou..." Harry tries to interrupt.

"Look, I'm sorry, Soph. It's just. I had a schedule today and then I fucked it up and there just isn't any room for surprises and I can't... I had to dash in the middle of an absolutely disastrous design meeting, because the bloody thing had run long and I'd forgotten the time altogether until it was nearly impossible to fetch Owen from nursery on time, so I'll be late, _again_ , which is probably going to get OO kicked out of the school at this point, and it's not even like I can blame them, I fuck this up so often, like. But I can't let-- Owen can't get kicked out because it's the best nursery even anywhere near the house and if he's going to get into the right primary, we need this, and... Oh my god, I can't. I don't even have the time to explain this, I just... I have to go. I have to fetch my daughter and go before they put my son in child protection or something, so if you'll just excuse me, you two can enjoy each other's company, or whatever, but I... I have to go."

Louis means to turn and dash down the hall, he really does. But he feels all locked up inside, staring at the space between him and Harry and Sophia as if the words he's just said are all sitting right there, waiting to be gathered up again before anyone hears them. Like he might have a second chance.

And honestly, _WHY_ can he not keep from spilling every inane detail of his useless life in front of Harry Styles? It's mental. Louis has got to get a hold of himself. Not in the least because now Sophia and Harry are staring at him like he might hit the ceiling any second, and frankly, he kind of feels that way. Like all his muscles are trembling so slightly that no one can see it, but the incessant vibrating feeling is never going to stop, or let him rest, it's just going to drive him round the bend, and he's just... going to dissolve, or something. Shake apart.

"Hey, Lou, Louis, love, it's okay. It's..." Sophia trails off, sliding her fingers around one of his biceps and wrapping her other arm around his back to rub soothing circles there. She's talking to him like he's a small child or a panicked animal, and maybe on the inside he's both. "It's okay. Take a deep breath, love."

"I'm sorry," he says, voice feeling small, watching as he scuffs the toe of his trainer against the floor.

"Hey, no worries, Lou. It's okay. You've just, you've got a lot on your plate. I know how that is. But d'you... D'you think you could maybe sit down for a mo and have a glass of water, like?" Harry asks very gently.

"I shouldn't, Harry, I really do need to be on my way, I've cut it too close already," he replies, raking a hand messily through his hair and giving it one firm tug to try and center himself before looking up to Harry's eyes. Because he knows... he knows he'll see straight through them. See just exactly what Harry's thinking, there, and he's not sure he can take that. Not if it's pity. And it's probably pity.

"I just don't think you should drive like this, is all," Harry says, eyes transparent with concern as he shrugs a shoulder and bites his beautiful bottom lip.

"Harry's right, Lou," Sophia says, squeezing him briefly before resuming the circles against his back.

"Soph, I--"

"Why don't I take you and Lise to fetch OO from nursery, hmm? Liam will come round and get your car when he's done work. It'll be no trouble at all, love, he had client meetings so he took the tube this morning."

"Come on, Lou, Lise is just down here with Franny. We'll get you three on the road quick as can be," Harry soothes, resting his fingertips on Louis' back just below Sophia's arm as the pair guide him down the corridor.

"Take a deep breath, love, you don't want Lise to..." Sophia begins, but Louis already knows.

"I've got it," he says, offering a gentle smile as he shakes free of both Harry and Sophia. "Lise, my heart!" he exclaims, stepping into the room to spy his bright, beautiful, beaming daughter nose to nose with her best friend. She turns to smile and shout ' _Daddy_ ' and in that instant, he feels better.

***

It's two weeks before Harry sees Louis again, and he's not counting. He's not. It's just like... Olivier Nominee Sophia Smith-Payne was with Louis last time, so that was kind of remarkable, and she was only just cast in something new this morning (a musical, maybe?) so her name was all over the Internet and he couldn't help but remember when they'd met, and... He'd counted. But not because of Louis. Because of Sophia! Who is decidedly not with Louis this time. Which is a shame, he'd liked Sophia, even though they'd only met for a moment.

Louis looks... he's this combination of horrible handsomeness and frazzled exhaustion, which is startlingly attractive. Harry can't even understand, like... how is that so hot?

As he approaches, he's holding what has to be the cutest toddler Harry has seen in... maybe ever. Easily since Lux was a baby. He's an absolute clone of Louis himself-- rounder in the cheeks, of course, but with big blue eyes and a downy fluff of brown hair flopping down over his forehead. Harry is so transfixed by the little lad -- his tiny legs gripping at Louis' side, his chubby hand fisted in the front of Louis' vintage tee -- that he can barely even pay attention to Louis, which is a feat.

When Louis comes to a halt before him, Harry lets his mouth drop open on a happy, exaggerated gasp, and says "Hiiii," to the lad in the most enthusiastic sing-song he's ever heard leave his mouth. It's embarrassing, really.

For a second, the lad -- Owen, he knows -- gives Harry nothing more than an appraising gaze. But then his face breaks into a big smile and Harry honestly feels like he's won something.

"OO, this is Harry," Louis says, drawing Harry's eyes away. Even tired, smudges of deep blue beneath his eyes, Louis has a beautiful brightness to his gaze when he looks at his son. "Harry, this is Owen."

"It's lovely to meet you, Owen," Harry says, holding a hand out to shake. Just in case this toddler can do that.

What he gets instead is an armful of very small child crashing into his chest and wrapping an arm around his neck. Louis looks shocked. Harry just laughs and pulls Owen against him more securely.

"Hey buddy," he exhales on a laugh, giving Owen a little bounce on his hip. "How are you?"

"You has more hair than Leelee!" Owen informs him, reaching a tiny hand into the curls behind his ear and giving an experimental tug.

"You _have_ ," Louis corrects, looking pointedly at Owen. "And we don't pull other people's hair, bean. Please apologize."

"Sorry," Owen says automatically, though he does look sheepish. "It's pretty."

"Thank you, Owen," Harry says, biting back a smile that might be inappropriate given that Owen has just been reprimanded. "I like your shoes," he offers.

Owen, being his father's literal miniature, is dressed in a very Louis outfit. He's wearing a soft t-shirt, perfectly accented with drool stains at the neckline, skinny jeans with holes in the knees, and the littlest pair of checkered Vans Harry has ever seen in real life. (Sue him, when he's very tired or very cranky he online shops for clothes for a future theoretical child, okay?)

"Thank you," Owen replies, gently kicking at Harry's belly and bouncing in his arms happily.

"Your Daddy has a matching pair, doesn't he?"

Strictly speaking, Harry hasn't seen Louis in a pair of checkered Vans -- just about three different varieties of black ones, and a beat up pair of white lace-ups -- but he's almost sure Louis must have some, given his proclivity for the brand. Harry finds it kind of charming that this man, this powerful, likely wealthy man, is so attached to shitty trainers.

"Yes, yes!" Owen nods enthusiastically. "Leelee too."

"Oh really?" Harry asks.

In lieu of an answer, Owen nods, sighs and hums a bit before sticking the two middle fingers of his right hand into his mouth. As he settles his head against Harry's shoulder, he begins to rhythmically rub the collar of Harry's t-shirt between the thumb and forefinger of his opposite hand. It feels like Harry's heart might burst into a thousand irreparable pieces.

"The family that matches their shoes together stays together, hmm?" Harry asks, looking up to smile at Louis as he rests his cheek against the crown of Owen's head for a second.

"What?" Louis asks, recoiling a bit and shaking his head as if surprised he's being addressed. "Oh, no, I mean, yeah. Yeah! Something like that."

"That's horribly sweet, Lou, really." He smiles again as Louis' gaze drifts in and out of focus.

"I'm sorry, I just... This is a bit... Unprecedented," Louis says, waving his hand in a circular gesture at Owen, who seems rather content to stay where he is.

"Really?" Harry tries no to let the joy color his voice, he does. But it's... basically not possible.

"Really. I've never... I mean, not this fast..."

Harry buries his smile in the top of Owen's head and takes a steadying inhale of baby shampoo before he turns back to Louis. He hopes his face is marginally more under control.

"What?" he asks, half laughing. Louis is still gaping.

"Nothing, I just... Nope. Cannot."

"Cannot what?"

"Oh, my god, Harry, get your ars--err, bum back in here!" Niall shouts, leaning out the door to Franny's room and breaking the moment quite effectively.

"Relax, Ni."

"Don't tell me to relax! I think they're going to mutiny in here!"

"Mate," he laughs, "You're in a children's hospital, stop shouting. 'Sides, if they mutiny, there's like, a ton of staff here to like... do something."

"Haz, none of these little lasses want to see me. Can you _please_ get back in here? I'm begging."

"Lasses?" Louis asks.

"Oh, yeah," he says, starting back toward the room, "like, half Franny and Leelee's class're here."

"Harry!" Niall shouts again, still desperate.

Now that he's listening, Harry can hear commotion in Franny's room. Still, he ignores Niall. Much more important things are on his mind. Like the fact that he's close enough to smell Louis' cologne -- whisky and wood and open flame -- and he doesn't particularly want to step away.

"Between you and me," he whispers, having drawn even with Louis and failing to resist the temptation to lean closer to his ear, "Niall has at least one of them _quite_ charmed."

"Oh really? Someone's got it bad for Ireland?"

"Put it this way. I don't think Sophia needs to worry about _me_ marrying into your family."

Louis barks out a laugh that also sounds kind of like a choking cough, and Harry finds himself making a face at the other man.

"You alright there, Lou?"

"Yeah, I, uh... Wait. Are you telling me my daughter's gone all doe-eyed for the Irish lad?"

"Yup!" Harry replies, popping the p.

"I don't know if I like the sound of that," he grumbles, "At least I'd vetted you. What do I know of this Niall fellow beyond his atrocious dye-job?"

Harry snort-laughs, then swallows it fast.

"I can vouch for Niall-- known him nearly all me life. Heart of gold, that one. Demeanor like a ray of sunshine."

"I suppose I can give the guy a shot, but if he so much as..."

Louis trails off as they round the corner and enter the room. Amidst a gaggle of cheering girls, eyes all glued to Harry, Lise is clutching at Niall's waist, chin pressed to his side as she gazes up at him adoringly. Niall is running a hand over her hair and chatting with her animatedly. Clearly, Lise isn't the only one enamored.

"Oh god."

"Yup. It's L-O-V-E."

"I'm not ready," Louis whimpers. Harry laughs. "Zip it, Styles! Both of my children have abandoned me in one go today! A-- this is a massive blow to my ego, and B-- frankly, I'm not certain my heart can take the strain, either."

"You still love Daddy best, don't you Owen?" Harry asks, smiling down at the lad who is still curled against his chest, observing everything quietly.

"Uh-huh," Owen murmurs around the fingers still in his mouth, nodding enthusiastically without lifting his head or ceasing the gentle rubbing of Harry's collar.

"See, Lou, everything is going to be just fine," he insists, looking up to see Louis' gaze soften at him. "I haven't stolen anyone's heart just yet."

"That's what you think," Louis replies, eyes glued to Owen as if in a trance, tiny, far-off smile gracing his lips. Then suddenly Louis jolts, slapping at his back pocket. "Oh my god, we have, Lise has dance. Shi-- Woops! Nearly forgot. Oi! Lise, bug, c'mere. Daddy needs to get you to d--"

"Dance is canceled today, Daddy," Lise calls as she bounds across the room to throw herself about Louis' waist. "Member, Auntie Soph texted to remind you this morning and you said it out loud and told me to 'member too?"

"Oh, wow! Good memory, bug," Louis replies, leaning over to kiss the top of his daughter's head.

"Can I stay, please?! _Niall_ said he'd help me with this game with the string, Daddy, you should see it, he's really good, it's like magic!"

Louis laughs. "Sure thing, bug. Go ahead, I'll just... I'll be over here with OO, okay?"

"You should come play, too, Daddy!"

"In a minute, Leelee," he placates.

Harry is sort of... transfixed. By Louis. Completely transfixed.

And he's staring now, he knows. Sort of openly. It's just... Owen seems content to cuddle, and requires exactly no attention, he's just a warm weight, breathing quietly, sucking his fingers and playing with Harry's collar. And it's an oddly comforting feeling-- having Owen there, but being able to focus on other things. Like Louis. And the way he looks at his daughter.

Maybe it's because they're in a hospital, because death seems so close to touching everything inside this building, but Harry can't remember ever seeing Tom or Louise look at Lux that way, for example. There's an edge of desperation to Louis' fondness, to his love. Like it could get lost. And it makes Harry feel... he loves it and he hates it all at once.

"Are you okay with him?" Louis asks, breaking through Harry's reverie.

"Me? Oh, yeah, no, s'fine. I'm a bit mad about children, actually. The smaller the better, really. Can't wait to have my own."

"Aren't you a bit young for that, kid?"

"I'm twenty-two, Louis, not twelve."

Harry tries to keep the irritation out of his voice. But he hates being dismissed about this stuff. And everyone does it. And Harry doesn't want Louis to be just like everyone else. Louis isn't just like everyone else, not to Harry, and god, that is the worst realization in the world. Or the best. Or. Ugh. Harry wants so much to be a bigger part of this picture and it's happened too fast and entirely without his actual permission and none of it is fair. Because none of it can really ever be his.

"At twenty-two I was married and I _still_ wasn't ready for children," Louis continues, "And I'm the eldest of seven."

"Well," Harry counters, stubbornly, "Twenty-two in rockstar years is older, or something."

Louis looks at him appraisingly and he finds himself scowling, shrugging the shoulder not occupied by Owen.

"Like dog years?" Louis asks, raising an eyebrow and quirking the corner of his beautiful mouth.

"Yup."

"Somehow, I don't buy that, Harold," Louis teases, posture softening, growing smile beguiling.

At the pet name, Harry recoils just slightly. He hopes Louis doesn't notice but it's just... Louis can't do that. He can't be charmed by Harry -- be charming _with_ Harry -- and not just be his. Harry's not sure he can take it.

"Guess you'll just have to trust me, then, Lou."

"Maybe so," Louis says with a laugh, before his scrubbing a hand over his face and sighing.

It's a deep, exhausted thing, his sigh. Like he's only just managed the strength to pull the air up from his toes before he exhales, wrung out. When his lungs empty, his demeanor changes entirely. Gone is the grinning, teasing man Harry was just looking at, replaced by a man who carries more than he can handle. This new Louis slumps against the wall and lets his head hang for a second.

"Tired?"

"Always. Kind of relieved Leelee doesn't have dance tonight, to be honest. And that, for once, I didn't fuck up the schedule."

"You're busy, huh?"

"Running a company and raising two children will do that to a man. I mean, obviously I'm not doing it alone. We have so many people who pitch in and help all they can. We just... have a lot to juggle."

And this is. Maybe this is it. Harry's opportunity to be more. Because he can't help it. Or maybe because he's a masochist. Or both. He just can't stop himself.

"You know, I visit Franny a lot. I could call round to fetch Lise sometimes, or drop her off, or whatnot," he offers, trying to sound nonchalant, throwing in another casual shrug. "You know. Whilst you're dealing with work or whatever else is on the schedule."

"Oh, Harry, that's--" Louis pauses, looking almost shocked, and pressing a palm to his chest. "I couldn't, honestly, but thank you so much. That's lovely."

It feels like a bigger rejection than it is. Because Harry knows -- he _does_ \-- that Louis is being polite. Letting a relative stranger drive your child around a major metropolitan area is not a thing anyone would ever do lightly. His offer was a long-shot, really. But it still hurts, more than a bit. Feels like Louis must know -- must see Harry's obscene crush written over every inch of his person -- and wants to let him down gently. Harry hates everything about this moment.

There's no time to linger in that feeling, though, to find it's edges or it's origin or learn how to pack it properly away. Because Lise is shouting across the room " _Daddy you and OO have to stop hogging Harry!_ " And Louis is simultaneously informing Lise that they will be having a serious conversation about her tone later, and lifting Owen from Harry's arms. Owen fusses quite a bit, but Louis seems more than used to it. He only rolls his eyes and lets Owen slide to the floor (in a very cute huff) whilst gesturing that Harry should return to the girls.

"Well, the offer stands anyway," he says, smiling and trying to keep it casual as he backs toward the girls. "I have booster and everything. My goddaughter Lux is about Leelee's age."

That's not strictly true, but Louis will never know. A booster is probably easy to get, like. And he could use it for Lux, too, someday, maybe.

"Thank you, Harry," Louis smiles, brightness returning to his features as he flaps his hands, shooing Harry away. "Now go, join your public before there really is a mutiny!"

Harry is happy to see Louis' smile, in whatever way he can. And he will not let the world's most lovely let-down break any part of him in front of these girls. So really, there's only one thing left for Harry to do. He resolves to change Louis' mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops!
> 
> Sorry dudes. It's been A Week and this just took longer than I expected. Probably because I was in Toronto for a wedding over the weekend, then came back to... a thousand fires at work and fires in my personal life and no sleep and... ahhhh. I'm just sorry.
> 
> But here we are. Happy Halloween, y'all! It's my least favorite day of the year, so I'm inside drinking wine and trying not to have an anxiety attack. But that means I had plenty of time for editing and updating this here piece of fiction and that's got me in a slightly better mood.
> 
> Next week is looking more than slightly insane, too. Because naturally I can't catch a break, but Imma do my best for you lovely, lovely people. Four is fully written, it just needs a thorough edit. So hopefully I can make my Wednesday deadline at work and tackle this on Thursday before I hop on a few cruise ships for a week, where internet will be scarce.
> 
> Nonetheless. I hope you've enjoyed. We're still in the exposition-y bits, here, but I think you're starting to see some of the set-up, so... Yeah. Keep those eyes peeled. And more as soon as I can manage.
> 
> xxxxxxL
> 
> ps. As ever and always, I owe A and H a million thank yous and hugs and beers, because without them, none of this would ever be.
> 
> pps. I'm not crying you're crying over these pics of the boys hugging/weeping at the end of their last show pre-hiatus. THESE ARE NOT MY TEARS!


	4. Chapter 4

Louis is ashamed to admit how easily he caves. It's just... Owen has been getting several nosebleeds a day and the GP _and_ the clinic swear it's just allergies, but that doesn't make Louis feel any better, so he's asked to see someone else and clearly the allergy specialist they've referred him to only has this one, magical, last minute appointment available. But Louis' already promised Lise she can go see Franny and Liam and Sophia are still off on some holiday before she goes into rehearsal for _Groundhog Day_ and his mum is busy with the twins in Doncaster and even Nora's parents have guests for the weekend and there just... aren't any other options. It's either cave and ask Harry for help, or rob Lise of a day with her very sick best friend. The one Lise could lose at any moment. Louis just can't do that to his daughter. She's already lost too much.

So he does it. It's a Thursday, barely two weeks since Harry's pity-offer to give Lise a lift, when he requests the favor. Harry is there when Louis arrives to pick Lise up for dance class, and when Louis asks, Harry's face positively lights up. Which makes absolutely no sense. And, frankly, cuts Louis deep. Like. The way Harry's smile breaks across his eyes should be illegal. And Louis cannot be... He has to stop paying attention to this stuff. Because it is not helping him manage his ridiculous, ever-growing crush. Fuck Sophia for putting the idea in his head in the first place. Honestly.

But Harry says yes, so, of course, of _course_ , Saturday morning all hell breaks loose in the Tomlinson household.

Lise is stroppy and Owen is bleeding everywhere and Louis had a tough week, okay. He just couldn't keep up with the house whilst also managing to get any sleep, so sleep had won and the house had... lost. Honestly, the place is a tip. It looks like it was recently tossed by burglers who thought he'd hidden precious jewels in amongst the children's eight hundred million toys.

Any and all attempts to tidy up before Harry arrives are thwarted, mostly by Owen, who is understandably tired of bleeding so much and taking it out on the toys, tossing them about in a tiny rage that Louis cannot seem to contain. Lise has been hidden her room, flat-out refusing to come down for breakfast, or dress properly, and Louis doesn't have the energy to fight her, so he knows she's going to be hangry when Harry arrives. He feels terribly, because no one should have to deal with that apart from Louis himself, but he just doesn't doesn't have it in him for that particular battle anymore.

It's with about 15 minutes left before Harry is set to arrive that Louis officially gives up on trying to make the house any more presentable. Instead, he orders Lise to get ready to leave -- _"Can't keep Harry waiting, now can we, bug?"_ \-- and abandons Owen to throwing plush toys while he packs some food for Harry to take along to the hospital. Maybe Lise will eat for Harry. Louis hopes she will do. Prays she'll behave herself for another adult because today she's clearly not going to do so for him. He'll live with that so long as he's the only one who suffers.

Of course approximately 8.5 minutes later, Owen lets loose an utterly heartrending shriek from the front room, which sends Louis running. Everything in there is solidly childproofed, because Nora was a bit insane about that, so it's hard to imagine how he might have hurt himself. But the sound is unearthly and it makes the hair on Louis' neck rise.

He finds Owen lying on his back in the middle of the room howling whilst kicking and punching at the ground with complete abandon, nose bleeding _again_. Louis doesn't know where all the blood is still coming from, there's been so much of it this week, but he is TERRIFIED by the sight. He feels Owen's exhaustion and rage, he does. But Owen can't... he'll swallow too much, lying back like that, or asphyxiate or something. Without a thought he swoops Owen up over his shoulder, rubbing his back as he destroys yet another t-shirt (Louis' stopped wearing anything he cares about this week) and hauls him upstairs. There's a bag packed by the door with another clean outfit -- just in case -- but he needs to not be carrying a bloody child out the front door. Time for a change of clothes. Again. Already.

Louis doesn't have time to check on Lise in the rush, doesn't even have time to wonder if she's done as he asked and changed out of her dress-up clothes to get ready for Harry's arrival.

Which is of course why, when the doorbell rings, he hears the strange clatter and drag of Lise's footsteps as she goes to answer the door whilst still wearing the pair of Nora's old shoes she always puts on while playing dress-up. They're very tall, and very sparkly, and Louis could never understand how Nora even walked when she had them on. But they did make her legs look... endless. And Lise sort of flops around in them funnily, but he knows deep down that she's attached to them, not just because they're pretty and make her feel glamorous, but because they belong to the mother she lost.

Louis yanks a clean shirt onto both himself and Owen, whose nose has mercifully stopped bleeding for the time being, and heads for the stairs. He listens as Lise greets Harry, and Harry replies, but it's not until he's at the top of the stairs that the words come into focus.

"Does your mum know you're wearing those right now, button?" Harry asks with gentle curiosity and a touch of concern.

"Course not, Haz," Lise replies matter-of-factly.

Louis sincerely hopes she didn't just roll her eyes at an adult. Harry laughs.

"Shouldn't you maybe, I dunno, ask, before you borrow shoes like-- Woah, Lise, those are Louboutins!"

"Loubou-who?"

"Louboutin, he makes... Well, the shoes with the red bottoms. They're very expensive, button, you shouldn't..." Harry pauses, trepidation beginning to color his voice. "Can you please go ask your mummy if it's okay for you to have those on?"

"Course not, Haz," Lise repeats. "Mummy's dead."

Louis is halfway down the stairs when she says it, and it feels like a bomb goes off inside his chest. His arms tighten reflexively around Owen, who cries out, and his heart starts racing. Harry clearly didn't know (of course he didn't, how could he?), and... Oh god. This was not the way.

At Lise's chipry pronouncement, Harry stands abruptly and stumbles backward a bit, but at Owen's cry his eyes snap up to where Louis stands. Louis watches as Harry's jaw drops open just the tiniest bit while he fumbles for the top of Lise's head, brushing his fingers through her hair and visibly attempting to gather himself. Louis knows the feeling.

"I-- I'm sorry, button," Harry begins, tearing his eyes away from Louis and crouching completely so that he's on Lise's level, "that was insensitive of me. I didn't know your Mummy was gone."

"S'alright, Haz," Lise replies, reaching a hand up to rest on Harry's shoulder. "Mummy loves me, even though she's not here. Daddy tells me so all the time."

"It's true," Louis pipes up, finally finding his voice. Harry catches his eye over the top of Lise's head and he mouths the word ' _Sorry_.' Louis shakes his head -- Harry has nothing to be sorry for -- and struggles to keep his voice in check. "You're my very best girl. Mummy's too. And she loves you very, very much, even though she's not here. But Lise, my heart, do you think you could actually behave like my very best girl and do what Daddy asked you to do earlier?"

"Daddy!" Lise huffs, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Lise, you know you can't wear you dress-up clothes to the hospital, and Harry is very busy. You can't keep him waiting when he's come to take you somewhere, love, it's not polite."

Lise does not move. Just crosses her arms over her chest as she engages in a stare-off with Louis.

Louis, for his part, wishes that the staircase would just open up and swallow him whole. Why is it that Harry Styles seems to witness all of his worst moments in parenting? His meltdowns, his children's meltdowns, the actual disaster of his household at this very moment. It's humiliating. Literally no one can look cool this way. And Louis needs all the help he can get to look cool beside Harry Styles to begin with.

"Lise," he says, in a warning tone. She continues to stare.

Louis descends the remaining steps and puts Owen on the ground to kneel to Lise's level. Lise recrosses her arms and raises her chin. Louis would laugh if it wouldn't undercut his authority. Louis would laugh if he wasn't so embarrassed.

"It's not fair!" Lise stomps.

"Life's not fair," he says, basically parroting his own mother, something he gave up being horrified by approximately three weeks after Lise turned two.

"I just wanted to show Harry, Daddy," she says, pouting and scrunching up her eyebrows. As if looking cute or sad will change the fact that she did not do as she was told.

"But you were asked to be ready to leave, Lise."

"But I wanted to show Harry!"

"Well now you've shown him. You've also made everyone late, and disobeyed your father to boot, so," he pauses, taking a steadying breath. He needs to just handle this calmly. There's no time for escalation. "You and I will have a talk about this tonight, and decide on an appropriate punishment then. But for now, I need you to go change into an appropriate outfit, quick as you can."

Again Lise refuses to answer, or move. Louis does not huff or sigh, though it's a near thing.

"Lise Suzanne Tomlinson. Every minute you stand here your punishment gets worse."

Lise only stares at him for a few seconds longer before shuffling to the staircase and stomping up to her bedroom. It crosses his mind to scold her for stomping, but it's just... Not worth it.

Louis squeezes his eyes closed and steels himself to turn and face Harry, who at this point must think he's the most embarrassingly shit parent in the world. Louis knows kids are... kids. Good lord, does he ever. But people who don't have kids don't usually get that. And god, he wants Harry to get that. Maybe some part of him needs Harry to get that. And it's just... embarrassing, is what it is. His children and his shit parenting and his feelings. All of it.

When he finally faces Harry, a little piece of his heart breaks off and lodges painfully in the outside of his stomach, like it couldn't find the fastest way out of his body. Harry doesn't seem to have been paying him and Lise any mind at all as they battled, because he's sat on the floor -- an awkward, adorable pile of limbs -- happily listening as Owen tells him a slightly-stilted story about a beloved plush toy named Barnaby. (It's a miracle Barnaby has survived this week blood-free, frankly, but Louis will take any wins he can get.) Harry is asking questions and nodding at all the right times, and Owen is delighted by his rapt audience.

Louis seriously can't believe anyone would look at his son like that, and see, he knows his kid is cute. Women FLOCK about Owen when they're out. But this is not... Harry isn't just like... fawning. Harry is connecting with his kid. And Owen's not... Lise walks into a room and takes it over. Makes six new friends. Charms everyone in sight. But Owen's not like that. Owen's quieter, more shy, more inward. He doesn't just connect with people. But he's connected with Harry.

In fact, he's climbing into Harry's lap right now, pressing hands to Harry's cheeks and making funny shapes with Harry's face, and Harry is just playing along delightedly. Bugging his eyes and making silly sounds that are making Owen giggle for the first time in days. Louis is so relieved he could cry.

"What are you doing to Harry's face, OO?" Louis asks, smiling.

"Playin'," he replies, smiling over his shoulder before turning to face Harry again with another giggle. "He's all squishy, Daddy."

"I can see that, bean," Louis says, almost a laugh. "Do you think you would let Harry help put your shoes on for you?"

"Yeah!" Owen exclaims.

"Can you please retrieve them from the sitting room for us? Remember where you threw them earlier?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Owen sounds slightly chastened, which wasn't really Louis' goal. He just needs... he needs a second with Harry. And Lise probably won't be long now, and... he's just buying time.

"Go on, bean, find your trainers."

He pats Owen on his nappy-clad bum as he passes and it half-occurs to him he should think about pressing the potty-training conversation again when he catches Harry's eye and all thought leaves the room. Instead, there is only silence. Silence and eye contact and the pounding of Louis' heart. The moments seem to stretch on indefinitely, and he knows there isn't much time for adult conversation, but it's hard. It's hard to bring it up. But it's easy to see the questions in Harry's eyes. So Louis starts there.

"You can ask, Harry," Louis says, gentle voice belying the tempo of his heart. He still doesn't know if he can talk about this.

"Ask what?" Harry replies, somehow managing to keep his tone sincere. As if they both don't know exactly what Harry wants to know.

"About Lise and Owen's mother. How she... How she--"

Harry throws him a line, "How you lost her."

"How we lost her," Louis nods sadly.

There's silence for a while. It's nearly complete -- as complete as any silence can be in a house with children -- but it's not uncomfortable, exactly. It just is.

"Was it recently?" Harry asks, somewhat hesitant, as if he's barely settled on the words in the instant he hears them leave his mouth.

"No. Well, I mean, yes. For me, like, but not for--" Louis closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. "It will be three years in June."

Harry looks a bit confused, and Louis can understand. He's probably tabulating Owen's age. Louis doesn't talk about this often, or ever, really, but he can read the look on Harry's young face as plain as day.

"So for the kids, that's a long time," Harry says softly, having read between Louis' lines, and that's... surprising, really. "What, uhm... How did it happen?"

"It was... Nora had had a really difficult labor with Owen. Eventually they had to do an emergency c-section-- Owen was just in too much distress, and Nora's blood pressure was already low, and... There were complications from the surgery. Just a lot of internal bleeding and they just... couldn't. Couldn't catch it fast enough. Couldn't get it all patched fast enough..."

Louis trails off into silence. He's just given this, this pop-star more information about his wife's death than he's ever given anyone who wasn't there. And now he just doesn't... he doesn't know where to go with it all.

"I'm sorry, Louis. That must have been... unbearable," Harry says, voice soft and aching.

He almost laughs, a dry, broken, sardonic thing. But somehow, he resists.

"It was hell on earth. Sometimes I think it still is. Or a nightmare, maybe. Like I'll wake up and Nora will be laughing at me for thrashing too much in my sleep, smoothing my hair down and kissing my eyelids until I drift again while she deals with the kids. But these days it's a magical morning if I wake to my alarm, and not a child in desperate need of some kind of attention."

Harry doesn't respond. Just lets the moment linger. And it's okay. It's all okay. It actually feels okay.

"Is that Nora, there?" Harry asks, pointing to a picture above the console in the entry.

And it is. It's Nora, in all her curly, red-haired glory. She's in the garden, sunlight making her skin glow magical, hair backlit like a halo of copper springs, smile loud and unabashed. She's tossing a much tinier Lise up in the air and Louis can remember taking the picture. It was the day they'd found out Nora was expecting Owen. They hadn't told anyone yet, but everything had seemed so much more poignant that day. And looking back, maybe it was. It was an oddly warm late-fall day and they'd cooked out in the back garden of their old place and lavished Lise with so much attention, because suddenly they felt like they loved her so much more, and these moments were increasingly precious. When the new baby arrived everything would change. They knew that. They were excited for that. Little did they know what the change would actually be.

"Mhmm," Louis nods, coming up beside Harry, who's standing close to the console now, body so warm he feels like an actual furnace. "That's the day we found out we were expecting Owen, in fact."

"Oh, Lou," Harry sighs, turning to Louis with this look in his eyes that threatens to knock Louis to the ground.

It's warm, and affectionate, with sympathy that lacks pity, and something else, too... Something bigger threaded beneath it all. Louis wants to respond, but it's hard to swallow, to move his mouth, to connect it to his brain. So instead all he does is smile carefully and nod, pressing down on the urge to reach up and touch his fingertips to Harry's flushed cheek.

"Harry!" Owen shouts as he barrels face-first into the backs of Harry's legs.

And just like that, the moment is gone. Louis swallows thickly and turns to face his son and Harry barks a startled laugh and crouches to pull Owen against him so he can help slip on Owen's favorite pair of tiny SK8-Hi Vans. Lise comes crashing down the stairs not moments later, asking Louis to help do up the laces on her boots, which she's paired with a frilly dress so she looks like a very small, less-high Courtney Love circa 1993 and Louis is secretly proud. Knows Nora would be too.

And when he looks over to see Harry booping Owen on the nose as Lise calls out to steal Harry's attention himself, he feels like Nora is there with them in a way that he hasn't felt in a long time. And this kind of warmth blooms. It's not unwelcome but it's nothing he's prepared to analyze and fuck, he remembers they're late, anyway, so there's no time for sentimentality now. They've got a doctor to see and a best friend to visit and fuck if that doesn't feel like the theme of Louis' life these days. No time for sentimentality.

He thinks he might be starting to miss it.

 

***

 

The thing is, Harry is not above playing a little dirty.

Like. He's a nice person. He is. But he's also strong willed.

And maybe he's an asshole for this. For finding out someone has _died_ and suddenly thinking he sees his chance in it. Maybe in this moment in his life he's not being a nice person. But it's Louis. And in the last few months, Louis has steadily occupied more and more of his mind. This beautiful, tired, hard-working father who always seems to put his children first and forgets himself almost entirely. With that swoop of soft brown hair flipped back from his forehead and his shitty trainers and expensive jeans. And his eyes. His eyes. Two chips of blue bottle glass laid over a stormy gray sea. Harry never wants to stop seeing the light move under them.

And that is... ridiculous. And he's probably the world's most selfish asshole right now, trying to throw himself in the warm place Louis' wife left behind in their bed.

But she's been gone for three years. And it's _Louis_. Louis who Harry has been trying so hard not to let himself fall for. Louis who needs someone. And Harry. Harry wants to try. Wants to see if he could be that someone.

Because all of this stuff has been stirred up inside him. All this longing, of a flavor he's never tasted before, constant after all these weeks. And it has to be for something, doesn't it?

And he's just going to try. That's all. He wont' be a creep about it. Or a jerk. He'll just... be there. He'll just try to make Louis see. And if it doesn't work, then he'll know. He'll know and he'll let it go. And then he'll be able to move on.

Because he's been on six dates in the past three months and exactly none of those people measured up to Louis Tomlinson and he should be more ashamed to admit that. To admit that he's measuring men against someone who's never been his. Who may never _be_ his. But he just has to know.

So before Harry drives Lise home from the hospital he formulates a plan.

He formulates a plan, and he enlists Lise's help. Because even if he's a nice person. He's not above playing a tiiiny bit dirty when it comes to getting what he wants.

"Leelee, button, I was thinking... maybe we should help Daddy out tonight and fetch a takeaway for dinner on the drive home. Does that sound good to you?"

"Would you stay with us, Haz?" Lise asks hopefully.

"Oh, button, I don't know..." he sighs, brushing her hair back and cupping her cheek in his palm for a moment before checking the straps on her booster seat. "I can't just invite myself over, lovely. That's not very polite. And it seems like Daddy's already had a tough week."

"No, Haz, you have to stay!" Lise whines, kicking the seat.

"Lise..."

"I want to show you my dress up clothes, Harry, please?! Daddy wouldn't let me in the morning and they're my favorite!"

"Oh, Lise, that's very sweet of you, button, but I can't just--"

"I'll call Daddy, Haz. I can do it! He'll say yes, I know he will."

Harry doesn't fistpump in victory before he hands his mobile over. And he tries very hard to keep smug satisfaction out of his tone when he takes the phone from Lise and finalizes a plan with Louis, who apologizes for his daughter's forthrightness as if Harry wasn't actually pulling the strings on this all along. It's quite possible he fails, but Louis never calls him out on it, so Harry counts that as a win.

When they arrive at the house Louis greets them at the door.

"Ugh, Harry, you're a lifesaver. Honestly. Thank you so much," he says, taking one of the bags and stepping aside to let Harry and Lise enter.

Lise doesn't even bother with a greeting, "Daddy, can I PLEASE show Harry my dress-up clothes before dinner?!"

"Dinner will be very ready quickly, bug, all I need to do is get out some plates. Can you wait?"

"Daddy," she intones, and Louis assesses her quietly for a moment.

"Alright, Leelee. You may show Harry your dress-up clothes before dinner. But only if you come down the _moment_ I call for you, and don't argue a bit. Any cheek and it'll be bed time for you and Harry and I will have dinner alone. Do you understand?"

Harry resolutely does not hope that Lise gives out to her father when he calls up for dinner.

"Lise? Do you not understand, or did you not hear me?"

"I understand, Daddy."

"Alright, my heart, go on ahead and show Harry your dress-up clothes. I'll get dinner ready," Louis says, leaning down to kiss the top of his daughter's head before reaching out for the second bag of takeaway, "You have 10 minutes, tops, okay bug?

"Okay, Daddy," Lise replies, only a little moodily, before reaching for Harry's now-empty hand and dragging him off toward the stairs.

Harry glances over his shoulder and offers Louis an apologetic grin, but Louis simply waves him off and rolls his eyes.

Upstairs Harry does his best to focus on Lise, he does, but it's difficult. Knowing Louis is downstairs. That they're about to share a meal in Louis' home for the first time. Knowing that Louis is... Louis is available to him in this way Harry had never let himself entertain the thought of before. Lise's mountain of tulle and glitter and piles of old purses and shoes that had belonged to her mum, they were lovely, but they provided only the barest hint distraction from the noise inside Harry's brain.

Within minutes Lise is huffy and agitated, clearly not getting from Harry what she expected, and he has no idea what to do... How to turn things around. When she slams a vintage minaudiere back into the chest at the foot of her bed, Harry winces, then scrambles to help fold and replace belongings more gently beside her, feeling guilty, but unsure of how to right the situation when she won't respond to his gentle teasing.

Louis' voice, then, is a relief when it carries up the stairs, calling them down for dinner. Lise practically hurtles out of the room without even a second glance at Harry. And that... That actually sort of hurts in a way Harry thinks he's probably too old to acknowledge, so instead he finishes tidying up before he follows at a more leisurely pace.

"You alright, H? Or did you see something disturbing in Lise's treasure trove of glitz that I should know about?" Louis asks, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Harry forces a small chuckle and schools his features into something that better resembles happiness. "No, no, I'm great, really," he insists.

"DADDY!" Lise shouts from somewhere toward the back of the house. The kitchen presumably. "YOU DID THE PLATES WRONG! I WANT MY MERIDA PLATE!"

"Well," Louis grimaces, "Someone's hangry. I, eh-- Hope she wasn't too horrible to you up there. Lise can get a bit... _moody_ when her blood sugar drops."

Harry laughs, relieved. "There was some very aggressive behavior with a minaudiere, but otherwise..."

"Minaudiere?" Louis asks, one eyebrow raised, laugh at the back of his voice.

"Oh, uhm, the little bags that are like... boxes? The ones with the hard sides."

"Trust you to know what those are called, pop-star."

"Hey!" Harry starts, about to protest more -- his sister is an accessories buyer at Harvey Nichols, okay -- when he's interrupted by a buzzing at the door.

Louis' face screws up in confusion -- quite adorably, Harry might add -- before he holds a finger up and turns toward the door. From his position on the last step Harry can't make out who's on the other side until Louis steps back and pulls it fully open. It's Sophia Smith-Payne.

"Harry!" she cries, rushing forward to grab his face and smack a big kiss against each of his cheeks.

"Forgive her," Louis intones dryly, "Soph hates flying. Never does it sober. She's been in the whisky."

"Lou," she says, frowning. "It's nearly summer."

"Forgive me, love, how could I forget your seasonal drinking strategies. She's been in the gin, Haz," Louis teases, glancing over his shoulder at Harry.

"Hey now, that's my wife you're talking about, Lou. Be nice," the big, broad man still standing in the door teases.

"Yeah Lou, be nice or I'll tell Harry all your secrets," Sophia threatens teasingly.

"Nevermind, if she does that, I'm divorcing her in solidarity," the man continues, entering and pulling Sophia into his side to press a smiling kiss to her temple. "I'm Liam, by the way," he adds, offering his free hand for Harry to shake.

"Harry Styles," he replies, smiling.

"Yeah, mate, I know," Liam laughs.

Liam looks like a very, very large child when he laughs and it's immediately endearing. Harry finds himself laughing too.

"Sorry. I'm a bit rubbish at... Meeting people is always awkward as fuck. Because like... who assumes that someone knows your name?"

"You are pretty famous, Haz," Louis posits.

"Still. I'd be such an arse if I just assumed everyone knew me. That's so grimy!" He laughs.

"Sure, sure. We all know this is just a tactic you use on catatonic superfans who can't remember how to interact with others, let alone introduce themselves," Louis teases, elbowing him in the side. "You can stop acting like you're not a stud."

"Not really," Harry mumbles, trying to hide his flush by peering down at his toes. Louis nudges him again and Harry's struck by the sudden desire to grab onto his elbow and never let go.

Before Harry can think of anything else to say, Lise's disgruntled shout cuts through the air, "Daddy, get back here! Owen's climbing again!"

"Ugh. My children," Louis groans, turning back to Liam and Sophia. "Would you two care to join us for dinner? Harry brought loads of Chinese takeaway and I have plenty of shitty beers in the fridge."

"DADDY!"

"Lise Suzanne," Sophia calls out, striding down the corridor without preamble.

"AUNITE SOPH!" Harry hears Lise reply, laughing as Louis shakes his head.

"Looks like we're staying," Liam laughs.

"D'you think you and Soph might like to buy my children off me?" Louis asks. "I'll give you a great price. And provide dowries for the pair of 'em."

"Not a chance, bro. You made that bed, you're sleeping in it!"

Liam chuckles as Louis shoves him down the corridor as well, glancing over his shoulder to gesture that Harry should follow. Harry bites down on his smile and closes his eyes to take a deep, steadying breath. Everything already feels too good to him. And he knows, he knows, he needs to get a hold of this. Of this feeling like these people he barely knows could be people who are a whole world to him. But tonight, at least, he kind of doesn't want to.

&

Harry is not drunk. He's not.

But he's hit that point where he's just felt all the muscles in his body loosen up -- as if a literal wave of relaxation has passed over him from head to toe -- and it feels good. He feels good. But he's not drunk.

He is staring at Louis a tiny bit too much, though. Probably. Possibly. He thinks maybe Liam has noticed, which would be bad news for Harry and his ability to keep this shit on lockdown. But it's just really hard.

They're still arrayed around the table in Louis' kitchen -- all windows to the back garden and subway tile and soapstone and old wood -- dinner long finished, a pile of fortune cookies recently deposited at the center of the table, waiting to be smashed. Harry has slid down in his seat, and Owen is drifting off against his chest (a position he claimed before Harry was even done eating) sucking his fingers and rubbing the bottom hem of Harry's tee between the fingers of his free hand.

Lise has been stalling her bedtime, telling outlandish stories about her dress-up clothes and the adventures she's been on while wearing them, and she's got the adults at the table wrapped around her little finger in a way Harry can admire. He knows how hard it is to hold a room. Louis looks soft and fond as he listens, smiling and twisting his beer bottle between his fingertips, and Harry can't help but wonder what he's thinking. What it would be like to listen to Lise's stories if she were his child.

It's about then, as Harry is fantasizing about what his children will be like someday -- more like Lise or Owen? -- that Lise cuts off mid-sentence with a huge yawn and Louis leaps into action.

"Alright, bug, it's time for you and I to have a chat before bed."

"Daddy," Lise whines, but it's halfhearted.

"Nope. We discussed this earlier today. Now go on, give everyone kisses goodnight."

Harry is shocked when Lise starts with him, leaving a wet smack against his cheek and giving his hair an affectionate tug, which Owen mirrors, sneaking his fingers into Harry's hair while his big sister kisses his cheek, too. As Lise trips off to wish her Auntie Soph and Uncle Leemo a goodnight as well, Louis steps up, offering to take Owen. Harry immediately declines.

"It's fine, Lou," he says, shaking his head gently.

"It's also past his bedtime," Louis states.

"I can sort it, if you'd like," Sophia volunteers, "Get OO off to bedfordshire."

Harry tries not to let anyone see the shock of panic that hits him. Tonight he doesn't want to let Owen go. Which is... That's not... Not a thing. It can't be a thing. No one here is his. Least of all this child in his arms, this warm affectionate weight.

"I don't mind. I can follow you up, Louis," he offers, the words forced.

At that, Louis becomes the third Tomlinson to tug on one of Harry's curls and it takes everything in Harry not to groan at the contact.

"Alright, kid, come on, I'll show you to OO's room."

Harry changes Owen, sifting through the drawer Louis pointed out until he finds a pair of pajamas that have Owen humming in approval. Owen allows himself to be changed, nappy and all, with no complaint, but makes a bit of a fuss about being put down in his cot for the night. And that Harry can kind of understand-- he doesn't want to leave the party either. He doesn't even particularly want to put Owen down. A few minutes of gentle rocking -- Owen seems to prefer a twisting motion to a bouncing one -- and humming, however, have the little lad's eyelids dropping and Harry is able to deposit him in the cot with a soft kiss to the forehead. He waits a moment, just in case, watching as Owen's lips part on an exhale and his fingers fall halfway out of his mouth, then he turns to leave.

Behind him, Louis is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, shoulder against the frame, one foot propped over the other. Harry feels a bolt of anxiety when he sees him, worried his affection may have been somehow unwelcome. After all, he hardly knows the Tomlinsons. He basically forced Louis to let him put Owen to bed. To be kissing him to sleep is maybe... A lot. It had just felt so natural, and... And Louis' expression looks caught somewhere between a fond smile and a sad frown, except maybe the smile is winning. So maybe, maybe it's okay.

"He adores you," Louis murmurs as Harry approaches.

"Well, the feeling is mutual."

"Honestly, Haz, Owen is never... He won't even go down like that for _me_. So. Just... You may be stuck with us," Louis finishes with a soft chuckle, a window opening in his expression that gives Harry view of a sort of longing he wasn't sure he'd ever find there.

Harry's heart makes a somewhat aborted attempt to escape the confines of his chest via rapid expansion, then, and for half a second he feels like he could float away. But only for half a second. Then it's just back to it's normal size, racing faster than Harry thinks he can handle in this moment.

Before he can respond Louis speaks again, pressing the words out in joking tone, "Sorry to saddle you with that responsibility, kid."

The window closes, then. And Harry wonders if he'd read those eyes correctly. If it would ever even matter whether or not he had.

"It'd be an honor," Harry demurs. "Not a responsibility."

"You're sweet, H. But it'd only be an honor for about three quarters of an hour. Then you'd -- rightfully -- run screaming for the hills. Or, at the very least, the nearest well-stocked bar," another forced joke, another dry chuckle. "And speaking of well-stocked bars... The children are in bed, so now it's _really_ party time. I might go completely mental and have a THIRD beer tonight. C'mon, kid, let's go."

It's the third time Louis has called Harry 'kid' that night alone and it makes his heart feel like it's growing again. The extra weight in his chest makes balance hard and Harry nearly trips several times as he rushes to follow Louis down the stairs and back to the kitchen, where Liam and Sophia await.

Louis cracks another beer immediately, and Harry... Harry knows he needs to refrain. He does. Because he's in that good space right now. Things feel looser, easier, but they're at no risk of going to the bad place, here. He just needs stasis. So he nurses the last few sips of his last drink -- which may or may not have been his 3rd to begin with -- and smiles along as Louis recounts the way Lise dropped her bombshell on Harry that morning. If anyone asks, he'll swear he was listening to the words that were coming out of Louis' mouth and not just watching his lips move. In reality, he's not so sure that's true.

The conversation is easy, with Sophia ribbing Louis for never having told Harry -- _"I can't_ believe _you let your five-year-old do your dirty work, Lou!"_ \-- and Liam shooting soft smiles between everyone at the table as Harry tries to keep pace. Before long he's consenting to a potentially ill-advised fourth beer, and everything feels like it's slowed down by half a beat in the best way possible.

He's barely halfway through his new beer when Louis cracks another, and it's only minutes later that Liam and Sophia push back from the table with meaningful eyes, bidding he and Louis farewell. And that's it. They're... they're alone. And Harry's heart has gone double-time. Again.

"I should, I should go, too. I'm sure--"

"No, don't," Louis interrupts.

"I'm sure you must be exhausted after this week. I'll let you--" he says, fumbling to stand. Louis' fingers circle his wrist and give it a tug.

"Come on, kid, I just opened another beer. Don't leave me here to drink all alone," Louis pleads, although his words carry the whiff of a command.

"Are you sure? I know the kids are up early, and I don't... I don't want to keep you."

"Funny," Louis muses, eyes unfocused as he looks down at his beer, mumbling as if he's not sure he should even give voice to his next thought, "I was just thinking I'd love to keep you."

Harry stumbles at that. Manages to trip over his own feet while he's standing still which has got to be some kind of daymare come to life. He catches himself on the edge of the table, just before he falls onto Louis and makes everything that much worse.

He can smell Louis' cologne, here. Faded after a long day, but still smoky, like the last remnants of a fire that's long gone out. Harry wants to bury his face in Louis' neck. Lathe his tongue over the skin there and find out what he can taste. It's not until Louis turns his face upward -- breath skating across Harry's chin, lips so close Harry can practically feel their heat -- that he snaps out of his stupor and rights himself in a rush.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm a klutz."

"Apparently," Louis laughs. "You should stay, though, H. Finish your drink. Talk to me about something that does not involve my son's never-ending nosebleeds or my dead wife."

Louis slaps his hand over his mouth at that. Harry barely contains a giggle at the shocked look on his face, just drunk enough not to feel uncomfortable by the blunt reference to Louis' loss.

"Are you laughing at me, Styles?"

"No!" he insists.

"You are! You want to, I can see it in those fucking eyes of yours! Clearly you owe it to me to stay for a drink, then."

"It's just, you look so shocked by _your own words_ ," he defends.

"Is that a yes, then?" Louis asks cheekily.

Which is exactly how Harry ends up on the couch in Louis' front room two hours later, only just having called for a car because there's no way he can drive himself home-- he's far too drunk. On Louis. On shitty beer. On the charge in the air that only exists in the spaces between them. On want. So much want.

Louis is turned toward him, with one leg pulled up on the couch, and the line of his shin is pressed up against Harry's thigh from hip to knee. He's holding his beer in one hand, and fiddling with the hem of his skinny jeans with the other, and Harry's been fighting the urge to press an errant strand of hair away from Louis' forehead for the better part of forever, it seems. They're debating Man U's prospects for next season -- or really, Louis is going on at length and Harry is listening. He's contributing when he should, honestly, but mostly Harry just likes hearing Louis talk so passionately about something, silly as sports teams may seem to anyone else. So basically, Harry's watching that damn loose strand of hair move against Louis' cheek and staring at his motor-mouth and smiling like a lunatic.

And Harry's not usually this timid when he's set his mind to something. Someone. He just... goes for it. Little touches and flirty laughs and always always always getting closer. But there's something so perfect about tonight, about the quality of Louis' smile, and he's so scared to ruin it. To rush Louis and scare him away. Something's changed since this afternoon.

So instead he bites down on his lip and lets Louis lead the way.

His heart sinks when the car arrives, dropping into a place below his ribs where it doesn't quite fit. Harry hadn't even let himself realize how close Louis has gotten until he's already pulled away, laughing about how Harry's let him ramble for too long, and how he really needs more adult time to learn how to socialize again, before he leads Harry to the front door.

Stepping outside is a chore -- doing it without tripping up in the trailing tendrils of his own desire damn near impossible -- and Harry takes every opportunity to stall before facing Louis from the front step.

"I uhm, wanted to just. Say thank you. So, yeah... Thanks, kid," Louis fumbles to his finish, letting his eyes fall to the place where he's toeing at the threshold and crossing his arms tighter over his chest.

"No worries, Lou. Couldn't leave you to drink alone. One of the top signs of alcoholism, that."

Harry is a moron and he has no idea what he's saying and he doesn't even believe that. But the air is like... thick. It's physical. And he can't think properly.

Louis chuckles.

"No, I mean. That was lovely. But I meant for like... For saving me today. I couldn't have done it without you, quite literally, like. And you were so, so _good_ about the whole Nora thing," Harry has been subtly leaning forward on his toes as Louis rambled, but at the mention of Nora he abandons subtlty and brushes his fingers down Louis' forearm before wrapping them around his wrist and squeezing. Louis laughs nervously again. "Didn't even do those horrible pity eyes everyone else always does and, so... just. Thanks. Today was great and tonight was lovely and yeah. Thanks."

"Course, yeah. You're-- you're welcome, Lou. I. I had such a good day, so," he fumbles, losing balance a bit and rocking back onto his heels accidentally and there's half a second where, as Louis follows, Harry swears the older man is going to kiss him.

The moment is gone too fast for him to make heads or tails of it, however. All Harry's left with the press of Louis' fingers at his side and a brush of lips over his cheek, so delicate it may have been a breath. Before he can react, Louis gently whispers "dream sweet, kid" in his ear and leans back, fidgeting with the door handle. Harry turns, dazed, to make his way to his ride. Just as Harry decides to try and steal one last look, the door clicks quietly closed between them, so he leaves without another word, the strangest combination of sadness and hope taking root inside his chest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy god I am so sorry about the delay!
> 
> In my own defense I had a second round job interview, two creative tests, a massive client pitch, and several rounds of negotiation and counter-offers to reject in the weeks since I updated last. (I have a new job now, yay!) Plus I'm working on a freelance project, another new client pitch, and I went on two cruise ship launches with my best friend-- one here in NYC and another out of Miami. So it's been... There's been some stuff going on.
> 
> But here we are. A new chapter. And some big reveals. Forgive me.
> 
> More next week! I've got so much up my sleeve.
> 
> Adore you all.
> 
> xL


	5. Chapter 5

Louis is dozing on the sofa beside Owen when Liam and Sophia arrive. Lise, god bless her, is still asleep, and frankly, Sophia looks like she basically is, too. But Liam wanted to drag Louis out on a run, and Sophia was just collateral damage. Someone had to watch the kids.

Owen had awoken, thrilled to be alive, at 6 am that morning, and though this week had been so much better than the last -- no nosebleeds! -- Louis was still exhausted. (If he's learned one thing in the last 3 years it's that he's basically always going to be exhausted.) He'd made it through about half an hour of playing zoo with OO before he admitted defeat, putting on a DVD to keep his son occupied while he slow-blinked himself to sleep. Because he is an excellent father.

"Hey there, bubs," Sophia murmurs softly when she arrives, sitting on the floor in front of the sofa and kissing Owen's tiny, chubby knee before resting her head back on the cushions.

Owen, as engrossed in the lives of the cars on screen as Louis has ever been in a footie match, merely pats Sophia's head gently and accepts the kiss that Louis presses to his shoulder, eyes never leaving the telly. Louis will never admit how adorable he finds this, because it is also impossibly rude and he would be reinforcing all the wrong messages. But. When Owen focuses in on something it's just really, deeply, horribly sweet. His tongue presses up behind his teeth and his tiny brow furrows just so and... It's a little bit Nora and a little bit him and 100% Owen and Louis just loves him so much it's sort of staggering sometimes. Like right now.

Before Liam can drag him out the door, Louis dips back in to press a kiss to Owen's forehead. Owen simply bats him away -- Louis is the _worst_ , how could he block the telly?! -- but Sophia makes an affectionate humming sound, which Louis chases with a kiss to her forehead, too. Four years ago, this is not how he pictured his life. But he loves it so, anyway. He always will.

Once they're outside it takes exactly two blocks for Liam to say, "So, Harry."

Louis trips.

"Didn't know I'd gone on a run with Sophia."

"Piss off, Lou. You'll be shocked to find I care about your personal life, too. Seeing as you're my best mate and all."

"I really thought I'd escaped this," he replies, shaking his head and watching as each foot strikes the early morning pavement.

"Please. As if you could avoid me forever," Liam snorts, pushing the pace. "All that busywork you buried yourself in this week was an obvious tell, by the way."

"You are the worst, Liam Payne."

"No, I'm the best. So, I say again... Harry."

"It's cute how you think saying his name is some obvious conversational prompt."

"Lou."

"What do you want to know?"

"Why are you being so weird about this, Louis?"

"That's what you want to know?"

"Sometimes I wonder how you even managed to get Nora to talk to you, let alone have your children, mate."

"I'm not THAT emotionally stunted!"

"Really? Because this," Liam gestures wildly at Louis, "seems to indicate otherwise."

"It's just embarrassing, innit?!"

"What?" Liam asks, turning to Louis with a bizarre combination of shock and incredulity on his face.

"Don't look at me like that, Li. You know what's embarrassing."

"No, mate, I really don't."

"I actually hate you for making me admit I have a raging boner for Harry Fucking Styles."

"Is that his middle name, then?"

"It's Edward," Louis answers automatically.

Liam begins laughing so hard he actually has to stop running and Louis just wants the ground to swallow him whole (which is a feeling he's been having a lot lately, he knows). He's confessed his deepest, darkest, most embarrassing secret feelings and his best mate is just taking the piss.

"Oh, come on, Lou. Stop making that pouty face at me! It's a little funny that you're in deep enough to know his middle name but you're still embarrassed to admit it's a thing. Unless... Wait. Did he not tell you his middle name when you two were bonding the other night? Did you just... know it? Are you internet stalking him, Lou? This is worse than I thought!" Liam is laughing like this is the funniest thing that he's ever seen. Louis is going to kill him.

"Shut it, you miserable git. If I wasn't desperate for cheap babysitters I'd cut you out of my life entirely starting right now," he huffs, shoving Liam half a foot. "And we were not... We weren't bonding!"

"What would you like to call that, then?"

"Fuck, Li, I dunno. But I can't... This is so ridiculous. You have to stop encouraging me."

"Why on earth would I do that, Lou?" he asks, beginning to jog away. Louis follows. "It's good to see you getting your groove back, as it were."

"I am not 'getting my groove back' you donut," he moans. "This is the most delusional... the most pointless crush I've had in my entire life, Li. He's a _child_ , Liam. And a pop star, to boot. He wants nothing to do with me. Not romantically, anyway. I'm a boring 30-year-old with two tiny children who wouldn't remember fun if it bit him on the arse."

"I beg to differ on that point, Lou. You're plenty fun."

"Not anymore, I'm not."

"Okay, so you're not doing body shots and climbing on bars to recite dirty limmericks as often as you used to. But so what? No one does that shit forever."

"Pop stars do."

"Not all of them. I don't think Harry's the type."

"Liam," he whines.

"What you do seem to have forgot is what it's like to fall for someone. Because if you think this isn't some Grade A, choice romantic shit going down between you and Harry, you're either blind or stupid."

"So I pressured the kid into staying for another drink after you left. Okay. I wouldn't exactly classify this as Tolstoy-esque, epic romance."

"I should fucking hope not. People die in those books, Lou!"

"You know what I mean, Liam."

"If you think Harry only stayed because he felt obligated, you've gone off your nut."

"Why else would he possibly have stayed? It's not like he was... And when I tried to--" Louis cuts himself off before he says too much, but only just. And one look at Liam's face tells him he won't get away with it.

"Tried to what?" Liam asks. Louis remains stubbornly silent, willing his legs to move faster. If he can just get through this run that much quicker, he can get away from Liam's puppy eyes and pressing questions. "Tried to what, Lou?"

"Kiss him, okay!" he feels the words burst out on a huff of frustrated breath and wishes immediately that he could have them back. "I tried to kiss him, just as he was leaving, and he... As soon as I leaned in, he pulled back. Probably trying to save me the embarrassment, like, so if we could just fucking drop this so I can stop reliving it in my head, that'd be great, bro."

Louis' chest is heaving after his outburst. He isn't in good enough shape to rant like that and keep any kind of pace, and now breathing is even more of a chore. For a desperate moment, Louis wishes he could squeeze his eyes closed until he disappears. This is humiliating.

"Lou," Liam repeats, pulling to a halt again, this time with a hand on Louis' forearm. One that reminds him of the way Harry had touched him there only a week ago. The moment he'd thought maybe he wasn't losing his mind. Maybe he could have Harry. Maybe he should make a move. "Lou, are you sure you aren't just misreading something?"

"No, pretty sure I'm not. Pretty sure I know what it feels like to be rejected."

"It's just... Louis, you should have seen the way he was looking at you all night. I haven't... I haven't seen anyone look at you like that since Nora, mate."

Louis' heart stops, at that. It's not... They talk about Nora all the time. He wants their children to know all about her, and Liam and Sophia knew her as well -- or better -- than he ever had. Even if it was different. And fuck, Liam was joking about Nora not 5 minutes ago. But there's something in his tone, now. Something in the way he's looking at Louis that cuts deep. Because what he had with Nora was... extraordinary. He'll never have anything like that ever again, he knows, he's resigned himself to it. And he wishes Liam and Sophia could understand that. Doesn't know why they can't. They'd witnessed every moment, from their first meeting at Drama Club in uni, to the moment the doctors had told Louis she was gone. How they can imagine something like that would ever be part of Louis' life again is just beyond him.

"Lou..." Liam says carefully.

"No, Liam. No."

"He's not Nora, Louis. I know. No one will be. You know that's not what I mean. But he..." Liam sighs, but presses on. "I'm telling you, mate. The way he was looking at you... it's not one-sided. You're not alone in this. And I just... I think you should try. I think you need to try."

"He's a child, Liam. An uncomfortably famous one, at that. And I... There's no way this can end well. Not for me. I won't... I don't think I can put my children through..."

"He adores those kids, Lou. You know that already."

"Of course he does. Who wouldn't adore those two in contained circumstances? But that doesn't mean he's ready to become a parent. And that's... Liam, that's what happens to anyone who's dating me. They become some weird, pseudo-parent for children who aren't even their own, and I just..."

"You're scared."

"Fuck off, I'm not scared."

"You are, Lou. And that's fine. But I just... He's a good dude, Lou. He could be good for you. Don't watch him slip away."

"You hardly know him, Li. What does one dinner tell you? I mean, please." Louis rolls his eyes.

Liam doesn't take the bait. Doesn't argue. He just smiles at Louis bit sadly.

"All I've ever wanted for you, Lou, is to find someone who looks at you like you're maybe the best thing they've ever seen, even when you're sitting around belching the alphabet to make your daughter laugh, right? And he... He does that. _That_ I know."

Louis takes off again. The air's become too thick between them and he just... He needs to move.

Some part of him knows he can't outrun this. Not his feelings. Not the press of the people who love him, and want to see him happy.

And he's never wanted to be the kind of man who let fear dictate his life. He's come out of the closet and starred in musicals at uni and started corporations. He's stood in boardrooms in front of the leadership of some of the most famous companies in the world to pitch his work.

But there seem to be so many red flags with Harry. Neon signs screaming "STAY AWAY, NOTHING TO SEE HERE BUT HEARTBREAK." And even in the moments where Louis thinks he sees the ways it might work. Even when he gets nearly brave enough to lean in for a kiss, he knows... Harry will never be his. Not the way he wants. He needs to let it go. Because the push-pull of his head and his heart are maddening. He can't take much more. And he needs... He needs Liam and Sophia to help him, here. Not elbow him over the edge into the rapid descent toward heartbreak.

So Louis runs. Races Liam through the rest of their usual route, moving too fast to form words, until he's charging into the house ahead of Liam. There, he knows his children will be awake. There all adult conversations will have to be put on hold. There, at least for the moment, he'll be safe. He'll have time to get his feelings back under control before Liam and Sophia can press again. There... Jesus Christ, there Harry is sitting at his kitchen table sipping a paper cup of coffee and pouring a handful of cheerios onto Owen's highchair beside a sliced up banana.

"Lou!" Harry exclaims, his eyes so bright they could probably light Picadilly circus at night, and the lurch in Louis' chest lets him know he's so, so fucked.

  
***

 

Louis seems pretty shocked to see Harry, and like... That sort of makes sense, given that Harry showed up at his front door with a raft of coffees and teas (he couldn't quite remember what Louis preferred) from the local shop in a totally unplanned and slightly desperate move. But the look on Louis' face, before he can school it into something more composed, is... something. It's a lot. Harry has to work really hard to clamp down on the feelings that swell within him at that.

It's totally rude to just like... Show up. Harry knows this. There's a distinct possibility his mum would be deadly disappointed in him. But Franny has been too sick for visitors this past week, and the last time Harry saw Louis he'd sworn Louis was about to kiss him, and lying awake in bed on an empty Saturday morning and thinking of Louis while staring at the ceiling just felt foolish. Especially when he could grab loads of coffee and tea and offer to be of actual use at Louis' house, whose address he had memorized. Parents needed caffeine in the morning, right? And who didn't need an extra pair of hands at mealtime?

So Harry had pulled on the nearest non-terrible-smelling thing he could find and folded himself into the car without much of a second thought. When Sophia answered the door at Louis' place, Harry couldn't deny he'd been slightly let down. But all of it -- the early morning and the disappointment and the potential rudeness -- they were all worth it for the two beats of time wherein Louis' face was open to Harry. When Louis looked like he liked the view of Harry in his kitchen.

Besides. Harry goes after what he wants. And he can't keep chickening out like he did Saturday last. Louis is not going to... No. It's not that. It's just, Louis is worth the risk.

"Harry... H-- uh, hi!" Louis says, stumbling down the steps into the kitchen when Liam presses against his back.

"Hey, Haz," Liam says brightly. "What brought you 'round so early?"

"I was awake, and bored, and thought I might try to bribe Lou into letting me hang with his children. See, I brought coffee," he says with an embarrassing note of hope in his voice.

"Turns out he got me instead, and you know how weak I am for a flat white," Sophia says, slipping back into the kitchen behind Liam. "Hey love," she adds, offering her husband a quick peck before scrunching up her nose. "You smell."

"Thanks, Soph. Truly."

"No worries. And... ugh, Lou, you smell worse."

"I'm going to say the same thing I said to Liam earlier this morning, Sophia Smith-Payne: if I wasn't desperate for cheap babysitters I'd cut you out of my life entirely starting right now," Louis teases, giving her a gentle hip-check and reaching for one of the cups Harry had brought. "Harry doesn't think I smell, do you, Harry?"

"Should I lie?" he asks, watching Lou open a cup to check its contents before looking up at him, aghast.

"I never!"

"You smell amazing, Lou," he offers with a cheeky wink, just as Owen pipes up to say, "Daddy, you stink!"

"Mutiny!" Louis cries, swooping in and rubbing his sweaty hair on Owen's cheek. Owen's laughter peels out through the kitchen at he bats his banana-sticky hands at Louis' head. "How do you like that, OO? Now you stink too!"

"Daddy!" he giggles as Louis drops a kiss on his nose and then his forehead.

"Daddy!" Lise echoes, pounding back into the room at full speed. She'd run upstairs to put on her trainers just before Louis had returned.

"Ooof," he grunts as List pelts into his legs. "Hello, my heart."

"Daddy, you're all sweaty."

"I know, Leelee, I was out for a run with Uncle Liam. Running is very sweaty business," Louis says importantly, propping his hands on his hips as he smiles down at his daughter.

"Did you see Harry's here, Daddy? He called up to see me!" Lise gushes, bouncing on the balls of her trainer-clad feet.

"I know, baby girl."

"Auntie Soph said I have to share him with OO," she pouts, making a complete about-face and crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest, "but I haven't seen him all week cause Franny's sick, and I don't think it's fair. OO can't even play footie, Daddy, he's too tiny!"

"OO can play footie if he likes, Lise, you know that. You just have to help him out a little."

"It's not the same, Daddy!" She stomps, moving her hands to her hips and furrowing her brow.

"I know, Leelee. But your Auntie Soph is right. You can't have Harry to yourself all the time. He's a pretty important guy, bug," Louis says, glancing up and catching Harry's eye with a mischievous grin, "Lots of other people need his attention, too."

"Well I want to go play footie in the garden with Harry and he promised me he would. So we're going outside right now," she insists, marching around the table to grab Harry's hand and give him a tug. "I don't care if OO is done."

"Lise," Louis warns.

"Lise, bug," Sophia begins, soothingly, "Why don't you and I go out first and everyone else will follow."

"You can't even play, Auntie Soph!" Lise huffs and Louis looks like he's about to put an end to the conversation entirely when Sophia shoots him a calming look.

"You're right, bug, I'm not much of a footie player. It's true. But I can help you set up the pitch. And I know all the rules, so I'll be the ref, alright?" she asks, looking to Liam for what Harry can only guess is some support before she continues, "Daddy and Harry will come out in a minute."

Louis looks like he's about to protest, but Liam throws himself into the mix, reaching for Lise's other hand.

"I'll help, too, bug. You and I can warm up while we wait, shall we? Then when Daddy and Harry get outside we'll make Daddy play monkey in the middle, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Lise cheers, lighting up and turning to dash out into the back garden shouting "Daddy is the monkey, Daddy is the monkey!" as she goes. Louis visibly relaxes when she's gone.

"You know, you really don't have to keep calling round to spend time with my beastly children, Harry. This can't really be the way a pop star like you wants to recover from a hangover on a Saturday morning."

"A-- I'm not hungover. And B-- so what if it is?" Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at Louis.

Louis chuckles nervously, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. That glint of mischief, of challenge, that had been in his eyes only moments ago is suddenly gone, and Harry wants it back.

When Louis doesn't answer, Harry pushes the last of the cheerios toward Owen and looks up at Louis from beneath his eyelashes, "So, are all of the Tomlinsons as bad at sharing as Lise?" he asks suggestively.

It seems, once again, like Louis doesn't have an answer. Instead he swallows deliberately, watching Owen's messy fingers as he goes for another slice of banana. For his part, Harry allows the silence to linger and thicken, watching the lines of Louis' throat move and change. Eventually, Louis chuckles a bit dryly, Running a hand over Owen's hair and saying something that sounds suspiciously like "fuck it" under his breath. In that moment something palpable changes between them.

"'Fraid so, kid," Louis replies huskily, eyes drifting to catch Harry's for a second before Harry's eyes move of their own accord, drifting down to watch Louis sink his teeth into his bottom lip. Suddenly the room feels very warm. "I probably shouldn't even tell you this, but... I might be the worst."

Fuck it, indeed. Harry's going all-in.

"And I probably shouldn't tell you this, but... I didn't come here to see your children."

"Oh really?" he asks, eyebrow raised again. And there it is, that light of challenge, back in Louis' eyes. Harry badly wants to see where it will take them.

Which is of course why, at that precise moment, Lise comes bolting back in through the door shouting for Louis.

"Look, Daddy, even OO is done with his breakfast! Please can you come outside to play? Please?"

Louis looks momentarily startled. Like he'd somehow managed to forget both of his children even existed. Harry is simultaneously chuffed and slightly gutted. Because the truth is, no matter what Louis may have said, he's always going to have to share. Louis's going to have to share himself, and Harry, all the damn time. Because there are two lives totally dependent on his. And Harry can't be jealous of that. Not if he wants to have even the tiniest part of Louis to himself for even a moment.

As he watches Louis reply to Lise enthusiastically before wiping Owen down and pulling him out of the highchair, Harry thinks that actually, he doesn't mind sharing Louis. Maybe it's... Maybe he's young and naive. And maybe he'll have to share Louis much faster than he'd have had to if they'd met before children were in the picture. But honestly, this was inevitable in it's own way, because a family was always part of Harry's endgame. And right now, he wants his endgame to be Louis. He doesn't care if he's rushing things.

Sure. He'll have to be a bit more creative about getting Louis alone, but he wasn't lying when he said this was exactly how he'd want to spend his Saturday morning, even if he were nursing the world's worst hangover. In fact, Harry's beginning to see with increasing clarity that this is how he wants to spend every kind of Saturday he has.

"Okay, kid, I think you've no choice but to come play for a bit if you don't want Lise to hate both of us forever," Louis says, smiling back at him as he reaches a hand down for Owen to hold while climbs down the steps to the garden. "But I promise, we'll let you get back to your famous friends right after the game, yeah?"

Harry is about to protest that it's no trouble at all when Louis winks. He fucking _winks_. And that's... that's Harry's move.

"And I'll make it up to you somehow."

Harry barks out a startled laugh, before slapping a hand over his mouth as he tries not to choke on his own saliva. Louis fucking winked.

It takes a moment for Harry to recover enough to reply, "I'll hold you to that, Tomlinson."

"See that you do," Louis says, before running across the grass to sweep his daughter up into his arms and toss her as high as he can. If Harry had a uterus, it would definitely just have exploded. As it is he's nearly come in his pants.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I made it in just slightly less than two weeks this time!
> 
> I'm sorry, y'all. But hey. On the plus side, In the last four days I finished up at my old job, and started my new job. And even though I can tell I'll be working a lot (a lot), I also feel like my schedule is going to be a bit more under control now. I may even end up dropping out of the Big Bang (I'm heartbroken about it, honestly, but I am SO behind) so... if that happens there will be even more space for AFiT in my life.
> 
> There's so much more where this has come from. I hope you're loving it. And thank you so, so much for reading.
> 
> More soon.
> 
> xL


	6. Chapter 6

"Lise, my heart, can you come here?"

Louis can hear the awful tremble at the edge of his voice and tries to swallow it, like that's even remotely possible. Like if he just tries hard enough he can be calm about breaking his baby girl's heart, which is the most hilariously impossible thought in the universe, but he's... He's got to. He's got to try and be an adult here. He's got to show emotion, yes -- he's got to shoe Lise it's okay to show emotion -- but he can't lose control. He's got to leave that to Lise. It's his job to be strong.

"What is it Daddy?" Lise asks, bouncing into the kitchen and taking in Louis' jacket, the keys on the worktop. "Is it time yet? Can we go see Franny?"

Louis feels his heart sink as he crouches to reach Lise's eye level and takes her hand. He can't believe he has to do this. Has to tell his baby -- his baby who's already lost her mother -- that she's just lost her best friend, too. He can't believe there's a world cruel enough to do this to a five-year-old in the first place.

"Lise, bug, do..." he sighs, closes his eyes, and begins again. "You remember how we talked about Franny's infection, right? That a bacteria got inside her and made her sick? That's why we couldn't go see her for a little while, yeah? Because she needed to get better."

"Yes, Daddy," Lise replies warily.

"Well, bug, it's just... Franny's body was already so tired from fighting the cancer. She's been fighting the cancer so hard, bug, yeah? And it just... she couldn't fight everything all at once, sweetheart."

For half a second he thinks he might not be able to say it. That his... brain or voice or words or whatever, that they'll fail him. But Lise. She deserves to hear it from him, in the best way he knows how to say it, to help her know. Understand.

"It was just too much for her body, bug, and she... she passed, Lise. Franny passed away."

For half a second Lise stands perfectly still, only her eyes betraying her understanding, her loss. But then she crumbles. It isn't particularly dramatic when it happens. More matter of fact, really. She just sinks to the floor and buries her face in his thigh, silent tears soaking his trousers and shaking her tiny body. Louis doesn't move until his knees ache too much to stay crouched there, and even then, he only sinks to the floor more fully himself, leaning back against the cupboards and pulling Lise into his lap.

"Franny's gone like Mummy's gone, isn't she Daddy?" Lise asks eventually, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

Her face is blotchy and her eyes are swollen and it's been a little while since she stopped crying, but the tears are still evident in the salty lines on her cheeks and chin. Louis bites his lip for a second and nods carefully, twining his fingers between Lise's.

"I'm sorry, bug, I'm so sorry," he says, pressing the words into the crown of her head and feeling her squeeze his hand.

Louis hates so very, very much, that his daughter has context for loss. That at five, he won't have to explain to her what it means when someone dies, how she won't see that person again, at least in this life. How death is a permanent thing here. He holds Lise tighter.

&

"...Is she?" Sophia half-asks when she enters the kitchen, where Louis is slumped over the kitchen table beside a vat of scotch.

"Yes," he answers, gesturing the the video monitor pulled up on his iPad without lifting his head. Lise is asleep.

Louis hasn't used the video monitor in Lise's room in ages. She sleeps through the night now, largely. And she's old enough to safely get out of bed and find him whenever she needs him, anyway. But he hadn't removed the camera in her room, either, which seemed fortunate when he left her in there tonight for some ' _Alone Time with my feelings, please, Daddy_.' He's been sat in the kitchen since then, trying not to chug whisky and watching his daughter cry, and stare at the ceiling and hit some pillows and cry some more until she could finally conk out. He's pretty sure his heart is entirely broken.

"Gimme some of that," Sophia says, reaching to swig right out of Louis' vat.

"I've never hated 'Alone Time' before," Louis moans, finally pulling himself into a seated position.

And it's true. Alone Time has always been is a bit of a Tomlinson family thing. Usually it was code for needing a moment to gather yourself before you said something you'd regret. Nora'd had a bit of a hanger problem -- much like her firstborn, in fact -- and even before they'd had children, when Nora needed to cool out without being spoken to, or touched, she'd invoke Alone Time. But frankly, both Louis and his wife had occasionally needed to be alone for no reason other than that they were not in the mood for any company. Alone Time (with a book, for a nap, to watch a movie in silence) came in handy then, too. And together they'd tried to teach Lise to be aware of her feelings and emotional needs enough to ask for Alone Time when necessary, even as a toddler. Louis had carried on the tradition in Nora's absence.

"I know I have to respect the fact that Lise asked for it," he continues, "But it's been killing me, Soph. I just want to hold her. My baby. My baby who lost her mum and her best friend and FUCK I absolutely hate everything in the universe right now... who does this to a child?!"

At some point, Liam had entered the kitchen, too, and now he and Sophia have their seats up as close to his as possible, Liam wrapping an arm about his shoulders while Sophia clutches at his waist.

"It's senseless, mate," Liam says, giving him a squeeze.

Louis lets himself cry, then, once again remembering the moment he'd had to tell his daughter she'd lost another person she loved.

"This is the worst Monday night ever," Louis moans when he finally stops crying and/or replaying the memory over and over again in his head.

"Fair," Sophia says, adjusting her head on his shoulder. They're still watching Lise sleep on the monitor.

"I cleared or shifted most of your schedule for the next few days, Lou, so whatever you need to do, it's no worries. Stay home. Make sure Lise is okay, go to the funeral, whatever you need."

"Thanks, Li. You're the best."

"Course, Lou," Liam replies, rising and heading to the cupboard to retrieve two more tumblers for whisky.

"This is complete crap," Louis huffs. "There should be someone I can call to complain about this."

"I think that's us, love," Sophia nudges, grinning the tiniest bit.

"I mean some kind of higher power."

"I know, love. I know," she sighs.

"I just feel like this is some shit. Who gives a five-year-old cancer? Who takes her life? Who lets another five-year-old lose her mother, then lose the friend who helped her get through losing her mother? Who the absolute fuck lets all of this bad shit happen in one tiny little circle? And to kids who should be safe from this kind of loss for at least 20 years?!"

Louis closes his eyes, squeezes them tight, and takes another huge gulp of whisky. For a few minutes, there's nothing but silence and the sound of ice clinking in Sophia's glass as the three of them drink and think. Or try not to think, as it were.

"Have you talked to Harry?" Liam eventually asks.

Louis feels his whole body stiffen at the question.

"What's Harry got to do with anything?"

"Breathe, Lou. No one's trying to imply anything here. I just know Harry cared a lot about Franny. And he cares about Lise, too. I thought you'd maybe been in touch."

Louis sighs, shoulders melting in shame. It isn't that he hadn't thought of calling Harry. He had, of course he had. But it had seemed like... _something_. Like too much something. Because there is nothing cute or playful or flirty about the way Louis feels right now, to say the least. And to be turning to Harry this way? It... No. Besides. The thought of dragging Harry down into his pit of despair had seemed... unfair. And worse, uninteresting. What would Harry want with a Louis who feels like this? Selfishly, it seems, Louis had not once considered that Harry had lost someone today, too.

"Well I'm a selfish twat," he mutters into his drink.

"A bit, yeah," Sophia says, elbowing him gently. "But it's understandable. You've had a rough day, and it's triggered a lot of memories, I'm sure."

For a few more moments, there's silence. On the monitor, Lise turns over restlessly in her bed, but does not appear to wake. Sophia pushes her chair back a bit, and turns to face Louis, reaching for his hand.

"I think you should call him, though," she gently prods.

"Yeah, maybe. Maybe," he replies, distracted. He doesn't really want to talk about this.

"No maybe's, Lou. Call him. You shouldn't... You shouldn't do this alone."

"And how, exactly, would calling Harry save me from doing this alone, Soph?" he snaps. "I'm not his responsibility to fix, or save. Lise is not his daughter."

Now he really, _really_ does not want to talk about this. Because losing Franny feels like it's changed something, or everything or... Bollocks. He's just not suited for this. For Harry, or anyone else, really. And he's certainly not suited for talking about it right now, either.

"You could be, though," Liam replies. Louis drops his head, chin hitting his chest. "His, I mean. Not a responsibility, or a burden. Just someone he cares about, loves, supports when times are tough. And he could be yours, too, I think. In the same way," Liam says softly.

"For two people who hardly know him," he scoffs, looking up to gesture between Liam and Sophia, "you two seem awful certain Harry is looking for something real specific -- and real _serious_ \-- with me."

"I know what I've seen, Louis," Sophia begins, gentle, but firm at the same time, "and that man looks at you like you are something precious. Like it would be alright if he never saw anything else again. He couldn't even hide it."

"He hardly knows me, Soph."

"Don't you want him to, though? Don't you want something like that for yourself?"

"Doesn't everyone want him that way, though?" he asks, surprised by the bitterness he hears in his own voice. Embarrassed by it. "The whole of Britain seems to, at least. Maybe the whole of the world."

"Who gives a toss about Britain, Lou?" Liam asks. "Or the rest of the bloody world. It's _your_ doorstep he's showing up at."

"And christ, Louis, forget about him. This isn't just about Harry. This is about _you_ , Lou," Sophia insists. "This is about whether or not you want something -- someone -- for yourself. Whether you want to continue to face the world alone."

"I'm not alone, though. I've got the kids, and my family. I've got you two."

"And we love you very, very much, Louis," Liam replies earnestly. "All three of you. You know that. But it's not the same. We're not enough."

"Ah, Leemo, don't sell yourself short," Louis teases. Or tries to. It's hard to do anything around the lump in his throat.

"Louis," Liam sighs.

"Don't fool yourselves. This, right now, is about Harry," Louis begins. "About whether I want him or not... But that doesn't matter, it can't... Wanting him doesn't mean that I can-- Or that, that I should--"

Louis sighs, frustrated with his own inability to make sense of this for his friends. How losing Franny has just reminded him off all the baggage he carries. Of how he's not sure he can possibly handle any more. Of how he's remembered how fleeting life can be, and that he cannot bear to risk Lise and Owen losing anyone else. Not when there's already been too much taken from them.

"Wanting Harry and having Harry are two different things. And I don't think... I don't think having him is a good idea. Not anymore."

"Not anymore?"

"Maybe a few days ago you lot could have talked me into this. But not... Not now. Not with Franny gone. I can't risk Leelee -- or Owen, for that matter -- I can't risk them losing anyone else."

"Why are you already assuming that--"

"Please, Sophia. I'm not fifteen anymore. I'm not some child, staring at a poster of a pop star on the wall, dreaming about the futures I can see in his eyes. I know how this shit goes. How he'd leave us -- to work, or to party, or to tour -- because he'd have to. But then, that would become bigger, would become real. And it'd happen slowly, maybe. In pieces. So it's hard to even tell how he's doing it, or how to fight it. But it would happen. And one day I'd have to explain to my children, _again_ , that there's someone else they love who they're never going to see again. Only this time it would be worse because Harry won't be gone the way Franny or Nora are gone. He'll be everywhere-- in record shops and on billboards, staring down from magazine stands in the shops or crooning at us through the telly. They'll see him and he'll be gone and I cannot take that risk. These kids cannot lose anyone else. I have to protect them from that."

"Could you protect Leelee from this?" Sophia asks, sensibly.

"From what?" he huffs.

"From losing Franny."

"No."

"And if you could go back, knowing this would happen, would you keep Leelee and Franny from ever becoming friends?"

"I... I don't know," he confesses. And he doesn't.

"You can't..." Sophia trails off and sighs, frustrated. "Loss is part of life, Louis. You can't protect your children from it forever. You can't protect yourself from it forever, either."

"I can protect them from that kind of loss, though, Soph. From falling in love with Harry only to see him go."

"Them, or yourself?"

"Does it matter?" he asks. Sophia rolls her eyes. "Fine, both."

"I suppose you can. And to that end, you can be alone forever. But what do you teach your children, then, Lou? To hide? To let fear dictate their lives? To protect their hearts to the expense of living full lives-- and having lives full of love?" she asks.

"They deserve love, Lou," Liam adds. "The kind of love you had with Nora. Like you _could_ have with-- You want that for them, don't you?" Louis doesn't answer and Liam apparently takes that as a sign to proceed. "Well it's your job to teach them how to find that. To model that for them, and to love yourself enough to risk loving someone else. So that you can share a fuller life with them-- with the person you love, and with your children in turn."

Louis looks down at his hands, debates picking at his cuticles, and wishes he could put everyone on mute.

"This isn't a life, Louis," Sophia intones, "It's a holding pattern."

"That's harsh, Soph," he chokes out.

"I think it's what you need to hear."

"And I think I'd like some Alone Time now, please."

For a minute he and Sophia just stare each other down. Louis wants to look mutinous, but it's possible that he's too sad and exhausted to manage anything that strong. Sophia just looks like she's going to refuse him.

"Fair enough, Lou. We'll go. But please, _please_ , think about it," Liam pleads.

"This isn't what Nora would want for you," Sophia tacks on as she stands.

"Don't you dare bring Nora into this," he threatens, voice low and tight. "Not like that."

"Nora was my best friend, Louis. I loved her as much as you did. I miss her every single day-- every time I look your children in the eyes, every time I see your face. And I will bring her into any damn conversation I please. So don't you dare--" Sophia cuts off, gasping and swallowing tears.

Louis hates himself, a little bit, for making her cry. But he's so raw. So hurt.

"It's funny," she continues with a distant chuckle, looking up at the ceiling for a beat before meeting Louis' eyes once more. "I just thought of about a thousand Sondheim songs I could quote at you right now. Or maybe a little Yorkey & Kitt, hit you with some _Next to Normal_ ," she chuckles again.

It's a sign of how many years they've known each other, now, how close they really are, that Louis can immediately name at least three of the songs Sophia is probably thinking of. He has to shake his head to dislodge them immediately. The Sondheim especially. If Louis lets himself think too much about "Being Alive" he'll end up attempting to drown himself in scotch. That's his emotional cutting song, and Sophia knows it.

"And I think... I think Nora would approve. But this isn't some fucking movie, where we cry into our whisky listening to an ancient record until we start singing along to 'Being Alive' and suddenly everything makes sense.

"This is your _real life_ , Louis. And it's racing past you and I _know_ you don't want to face the rest of it alone. What I don't know is why you're willing to let someone like Harry get away. Because that's not the Louis Tomlinson I remember. But you know what? I'm..." Sophia looks like she's about to light into him when suddenly, she deflates. "I'm done. I'm done lecturing you and pushing you and.. I dunno. I'm done. So I'll leave you alone now, and in the future, too. Until whenever you're ready to pull your head out of your arse and talk to me about this for real, consider the topic buried. I just hope you don't wait too long."

Sophia turns on her heel then, and storms out, ever the actress, ever fond of a dramatic exit. (Especially after an epic monologue.) Liam hustles after her, shooting Louis a sad frown as he waves over his shoulder. After that, the only sound Louis hears -- for a very long time -- is of his own forehead meeting the kitchen table again, and again, and again. That, and the strains of "Sorry-Grateful" running on a loop inside his head.

  
***

  
"Niall James Horan," Harry intones from the kitchen, where he's retrieving another pair of beers.

"Harry Edward Styles," Niall replies, picking at the strings of one of the stray guitars Harry has all over the house.

"Don't play dumb."

"Dumb about what?"

"You twat, put the guitar down. We said no work tonight. Stop trying to make me feel guilty."

"No you stop projecting on me, ya fook. I just want to play Wonderwall."

"Except you're playing around with that riff from last week and I told you that song is... not happening."

That motherfucking song. It's been torturing him.

He'd been trying to write about Sam, or the breakup with Sam, more like. And maybe a bit about the chain of men before him, the ones he was forever trying so hard to keep in his grasp.

Harry always fell for the commanding ones. The kind of men who owned rooms with a glance, and homes across the globe. The ones who always found Harry so disappointing when they couldn't properly own him, too. When he couldn't properly mold his life into the space they shared. And this song was failing Harry in the same way he always failed his boyfriends: it just never quite turned out to be what he needed, no matter what he did. No matter how hard he tried.

"Fine, fine," Niall grumbles, hanging over the edge of the couch to stuff the guitar back into a corner before sitting up to accept his beer from Harry.

"I've had enough shit today, Ni. Fighting with Atlantic, fighting with Rocket. I don't... I'm tired."

"They just want you to _try_ Harry."

"I _am_ trying, Ni, you know I am. It's just... not happening. The words aren't there. The melodies... Nothing is clicking."

Harry heaves a sigh and sinks back into the ridiculous, nearly destroyed, tufted leather club chair he rescued off the street just after he'd moved into this place. Everyone teases him about the chair -- by the time he'd bought this apartment off Grimshaw, there'd been plenty of money for buying any kind of furniture he'd have liked -- but he loves it. It had seemed lonely, there on the street. Like it needed a home. And he's imagined a thousand fantastic stories for it since then. Because it's got personality, and soul, and it makes his flat feel more like... a home. Which is clutch considering how often he has to leave it behind. It's a nice feeling to come back to.

Harry pats the chair absently, thinking, with only a little dread, about going on tour again. He loves tour. To the bottom of his soul, he loves it. There is nothing like sharing -- truly sharing, in a direct, physical way -- his music with people.

But he misses home when he's away, too. His bed that feels like a cloud and the just right smell and the way it feels like there's a place in the world that is exactly his, in a way nowhere ever has before. In it's own way, going on tour is like leaving reality behind. Except you don't get to put the rest of the world on pause while you're away. So you come back and there's so much you've missed. And sometimes it's not... Sometimes things have moved on. People, too. Sometimes it hurts a bit, is all.

As he takes another swig of beer -- nearly spilling on himself because there is no way he's sitting up any straighter, even to drink -- Harry allows himself a moment of complete honestly in the silence of his own mind. He admits to himself that he's begun to dread a very specific element of going on tour again, and it's this: leaving the Tomlinsons behind. Which is so ridiculous it's to the point of being pathetic. But it is what it is all the same, if Harry is honest.

And while he's being honest, he can admit one more thing: he's not telling Niall that he's got a sneaking suspicion he can crack open the sealed part of his heart, or his mind, or whatever it is that's blocking up the words, if only he'll write about Louis. But writing about Louis... Harry's never written about longing for someone without jinxing it. It's silly and superstitious and utterly horrid for his career -- several hours of fighting for more time with the label this morning prove that -- but Harry's not ready to take the risk yet. He's just not. Not if it means he could lose this feeling. These people.

"What're you shaking your head at yourself for, mate?" Niall asks, eying him speculatively.

Harry is about to fumble through some kind of horribly constructed lie when his mobile rings, echoing a bit from the spot where he left it in the kitchen.

"Shit," he mumbles, scrambling to dig himself out of the chair and get to the kitchen before it goes to voicemail. "Hullo," he huffs, fumbling the device to his ear without even looking at who's called.

"Hi, uhm, Hello, is... May I please speak with Harry?"

"You've got 'im," he says, pulling the phone away quickly to see it's Franny's mum who's called. He doesn't have time to register much more than that realization before he's pressed the phone to his hear again, and someone is speaking, more than a bit in awe.

"Jesus christ, I can't believe I'm talking to Harry Styles, shit-- Sorry! Fuck. This is, uhm. This is Franny's Aunt Rebecca. I just. Amy asked me to call and let you know that, uhm, that Franny passed."

"No," he whispered, immediately choked up.

"I'm sorry to, you know, be the bearer," Rebecca said, her voice starting to sound watery before she sniffled. "Of bad news. I just. Amy wanted to be sure you knew."

"No, don't be sorry. Please. Thank you. Thank you so much, is... Is there anything I can do, or...?" he asked, slowly sliding down the cupboards to the floor.

"I don't... I don't think so," she says softly, holding onto composure but probably only just barely.

"Okay, well, you have my number. Please, just... Please call if there is."

"Thank you," she murmurs.

Harry sucks in a huge breath and struggles to release it evenly. He will not sob right now. Franny's aunt does not need that in the least. He will make it off this call. There's just. There's just one more thing. No, two.

"Could you... Could you text me your sister's address? I'd like to send--" he cuts off, takes another breath that he forces into steadiness.

"Sure, sure, yeah I-- will do. Once we're off the phone I will do."

"I'm sure you've got a lot on your hands so I won't, I won't keep you. But thank you, Rebecca. Franny was... I loved her. And I'm so, so sorry for your loss."

Rebecca lets out a tiny sob at that. Gathering herself back together very quickly to wish Harry farewell. Harry repeats his condolences again and again, but lets her go. He has to let her go.

When he looks up, Niall is sitting beside him, and it's pretty obvious that he's pieced everything together. In that moment Harry is so, so grateful for his best friend there can't possibly be words to articulate it. So instead, he ducks under Niall's arm and clutches desperately at his side. Face tucked into Niall's neck, Harry lets himself begin to cry.

"She was so tiny, Ni," he sniffles, an indeterminate amount of time later. "How can someone so little just die?"

"I dunno, Hazza. It's bollocks, is what it is."

"I need... Franny's aunt texted me their address, I need to send like... Food, or something? And I--" Harry cuts off, choked up again. Niall just pulls him closer.

"I'll have someone at Rocket send a bunch, okay? Don't worry about that. We'll sort it."

"Is it okay if I just go to bed now, Nialler?"

"Hey, yeah, no, you just... Come on, Haz. Let's get you all tucked up."

Niall leads Harry to bed like he's a child, and frankly, Harry is all too happy to let him. While Harry burrows under piles of duvets and tries to resist the urge to cry into his pillow, Niall doubles back to get Harry's mobile, which he left on the kitchen floor, and when he leaves, it's with a promise to take care of sending food to Franny's house. Harry thinks that might be a bit of a cop-out, not doing it himself, but it's just... He feels really heavy and tired all of a sudden.

For a little while he stays curled up on his side, clutching his phone to his chest, like maybe he'll get a call in a minute that undoes everything. Like maybe he just imagined the first call, or maybe he's just been having a really horrid dream, and he'll wake up to a ringing phone and everything will be fine. Louis will call and ask him to pick Lise up again, and it'll be... Like it was a few days ago. A few hours ago. A... Harry hates this so much, because he knows that it's real.

It's just as he's drifting out that his phone begins to buzz in his fist, and Harry shakes himself awake-ish once again, because it's... Louis. It's Louis.

"'Lo," he mumbles into the phone. He should... he should get his shit together. He should. But...

"Hey, Harry, hi, It's uhm... It's Louis."

"I know," he replies, a tiny smile beginning for form, one he can't really deny.

"I'm... I didn't wake you, did I?" he asks. "I know it's late, but..."

"No, no. I'm awake. Just... I'm just not feeling great."

"Oh, I can... I can let you go, if you'd like. I don't want to--"

"No, Lou, don't. Please. I think I might need to talk to someone, really. Didn't realize till I heard your voice, like, but..."

"I know what you mean," Louis breathes across the line, and suddenly Harry hears it in his voice, too: sadness. Loss.

"You, you're calling about Franny, aren't you?"

"You heard?"

"I--" his breath hitches, "Yeah, I heard."

"Bollocks, innit?" Louis asks, almost laughing in a way that sounds a lot more like tears.

"Rubbish of the highest order."

Harry hears Louis sniffle, and that's when the tears spill over on his end. It takes him a few minutes, face buried in his pillow, to gather himself enough to talk again.

"Sorry, Lou, sorry. Don't know why I can't get a hold of myself."

"Because someone you cared about just passed away?" Louis presents the phrase as both a question and an answer. "I'd say that's a perfectly good reason to be upset."

"I feel like such a prat, Lou," he says, breath hitching before he can stop it. More tears threaten to fall, weighing down the edges of his voice. "I don't... I don't have any right to be all... To be like this. I-- I've only known Franny for a few months, like, and I... I feel like such a fraud, Louis, I..."

"Hey, hey, no! Harry, kid, stop. You have to stop. Your feelings are your feelings. You always have a right to them."

At that, Harry closes his eyes, squeezes them until bursts of color form in the blackness there, and presses a hand to his chest. Louis is so good.

"Thanks, Lou," he murmurs when he opens his eyes again.

"No problem, kid. 'S nothing special. Just true."

"You're wrong, but, okay," he manages a chuckle. "Are... are you alright?"

"Not really, no. But -- and don't let this go to your head -- chatting to you is helping."

Harry manages another chuckle. "Is... How's Lise?"

"She cried herself to sleep a few hours ago and I watched the whole thing on the monitor and I think my heart will never be the same," Louis replies in one long breath.

"Fuck, Louis, I'm so... I'm so sorry, like."

"But the worst, part, I think, was after I told her, she looked at me and said 'Franny's gone like Mummy's gone, isn't she, Daddy?' and like... What kind of fucked up nightmare am I living in where my five-year-old, my-- my baby girl, has context for this kind of loss?"

"I don't know, Louis. I don't know."

"I can't-- I don't know how I'm going to do this with her, Harry. When Nora passed away it was like... A fog, everything was lost in this fog. I was trying to keep Owen alive and get through every day and Lise was so little. I can't even remember. And there was so much... so many other people to help me, and even then, like, she was so tiny she didn't understand the funeral, not really, so it was like... But this week, with Franny... She's just old enough now, I know she is, and I don't know how I'm going to help her with this."

Harry wants to laugh in the saddest way. Even on his most optimistic days, Harry knows he doesn't know nearly enough about children to be doling out advice about this. But then. Maybe nobody really does. Maybe the point is just the endeavour to do the right thing, in the best way possible at that moment.

"I think the fact that you're so concerned is a good thing. It means you're going to do your best. And that's all there is. Just trying your best," Harry sighs, listening to Louis cry over this is absolutely gut-wrenching. "You'll do the right thing, whatever it turns out to be. And I dunno, maybe check some books or something? They have books for this right?"

Louis laughs. It's small and snuffly, but it's a laugh.

"No, kid. Pretty sure they don't come with instructions at birth."

"Oh shut it, Lou! You know what I mean."

Louis chuckles again, but it dissipates quickly. Replaced by a tension he can feel across the line.

"This is so fucked, Harry, I can't... And jesus! Sorry, H, I'm sorry. I don't mean... I really did mean to call and see how you were. I don't mean to cry all over you. This is not-- You don't need this. I'm sorry, like."

"Hey, no, Louis. It's... You know, or at least, I hope you know -- please know -- how much I care about Lise. And..." Harry drifts into silence and he knows, he knows Louis won't stay silent for long. He has to just say what he means. But he also doesn't... doesn't know how Louis will take it. But he can't... in this moment it feels like the most important thing to say. "You, Lou. I care about you, too. And I want, I want to hear anything you want to tell me. Anything."

Louis makes this deeply adorable snort/snuffle/laugh/cry sound that makes Harry's heart lurch inside his chest so hard he has to press his palm down over it again. There's a moment where Louis sobs sort of loudly before he pulls everything back in with a series of deep breaths that catch in his chest until they calm.

"Thanks, kid."

"You're very welcome, Lou. Very."

"I should... I should probably let you go."

Harry's heart lurches again, in a bad way this time, and he's not got a lot to say, but he knows he doesn't want to hear Louis go just yet.

"Wait, Lou, could you... Could you stay on until I fall asleep?"

Harry hears Louis sigh, and the sound of a chair scraping across a floor.

"Yeah, kid. Yeah."

They don't say much after that, and the last thing Harry hears before he falls into a sad, fitful sleep, is Louis' quiet, evening breathing.

  
***

  
Harry had insisted on hiring a car to get them to and from Franny's funeral, and when that car had turned out to be a stretch limousine, Louis had laughed and laughed and then spent too much time ogling Harry's arse as he futzed with boosters and car seats and the like. It was hilarious and endearing watching Harry try to get everything in place with Lise hovering right over his shoulder offering completely useless instructions and tutting at him every time he cocked something up.

In the end, though, they'd gone largely underused. Or the booster had, at least. Because Louis is obviously the world's most absolute shit parent. Who makes totally reckless decisions with his children's health and safety. Like letting them sit on someone's lap in the back of a limousine instead of in their protective seat things. And because really, how was he supposed to fight the puppy dog eyes being aimed at him by both his daughter _and_ Harry Styles? Harry Fucking Styles.

Which is how they end up parked outside the Tomlinson house after an emotionally draining afternoon, Lise completely unconscious in Harry's lap, her face buried in Harry's neck and her hand fisted in the lapel of his suit jacket. Louis has taken several thousand possibly-creepy pictures, though Harry has mercifully not commented on his potential lapse in judgment. And Owen is just stirring from his nap in the car seat, squeezing Louis' finger, which he's held clutched in his tiny hand the entire ride home.

Louis is pretty sure Owen is not at all clear on what was going on all day. But that kind of sadness can't help but weigh on a child as young as OO, can't help but settle into his bones, and he's been unusually quiet and somber for hours. Louis sees a lot of carefully-worded conversations in his future. But for the moment, he just needs a plan. Because the bubble of quiet contemplation in the back of this limo is about to be burst. The driver is exiting the car, strolling around around to the curb-side passenger door, and Harry's still holding his eldest and his youngest is only just awake and there are car seats and boosters and things to be dealt with. Louis squeezes his eyes shut. Here's reality, already.

"I can take Lise," Harry offers, very quietly, adjusting Lise in his hold and preparing to slide across the bench toward the door.

"You sure?" Louis asks, as if he has some other idea.

They could wake her, he supposes. Lise is a good enough sleeper, if she needed more rest, she could shuffle into the house and drop off again immediately. Or Louis could climb out and take her, leave Harry to wait with OO until Louis could get back to retrieve him, too.

"I am," he replies, voice low and deep and quiet. "Can't bear to wake her," he adds. "And she's just a wee thing."

Louis would fight that, but it's true. Nora was near as tall as he is -- so, in other words, tall for a woman, short for a man -- but Lise seems to have inherited his genes on the stature front. Actually Lise has inherited a lot from him. And if Nora's stories of her teenage years are any guide, he's utterly fucked when Lise begins to talk back in earnest-- she'll be so like him she'll push his buttons without even trying.

Harry makes for the door and Owen follows as soon as Louis releases him. He's halfway up the path by the time Louis climbs out of the limo with the booster seat in tow. (That was the easiest to unbuckle and yank out behind him.) And for a moment Louis is struck by the picture before him: his children arrayed around this pop-star, this beautiful, beautiful man, as if they all belong together, here, in front of his house. It's arresting.

It's not until Harry catches him staring and Owen looks as if he's about to yank on his sister's ankle, that Louis snaps back into action, jogging up the rest of the path. He unlocks the front door, indicating that Harry can take Lise straight to her room if he'd like, and is about to turn after the car seat when Harry reaches out and grabs his wrist.

"Don't," he says quietly. "Alistair will get it."

Louis nearly protests, but Owen reaches up to tug on his hand, and it distracts him long enough that the driver -- err, Alistair -- is already at the door with the car seat before he can protest. Harry's gone by the time Louis has thanked Alistair, and Owen is in need of a cup of water and some screen time, so Louis sets him up in the sitting room with the iPad and a sippy cup while he waits for Harry.

He's prepared to thank Harry and tell him to call if he needs anything until the moment he sees him, tired and sad, stood at the foot of the stairs. Suddenly it dawns on him that there's absolutely no way he's ready to face the next few hours alone. Harry smiles, small and sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck, and the warm feeling in Louis' chest makes it impossible to keep his mouth closed.

"Hey, kid, would-- D'you want a drink?"

"Oh, god, yes please. The boozier the better," Harry sighs, stumbling down the last two steps to knock shoulders with Louis and smile again, this time much bigger.

After a drink (or two) it doesn't take much to convince Harry to stay for dinner, and another drink after that, and then... Louis knows. He's... He's racing toward something really fucking stupid. For everyone involved. But especially for him.

"Lou?" Harry asks, tucked up in the corner of the couch and gazing into his whisky. It's late but Louis is afraid to look at the time. He doesn't want to know.

"Yeah, kid?" he replies, trying not to watch the way Harry's lower lip pops back out from between his teeth.

"Would it... I mean. I want to stay a part of Lise's life, yeah? Like, if that's okay with you. I know Franny's gone, and it won't be the same, but she shouldn't lose anyone else right now and I..." Harry trails off and looks up from between his lashes and Louis' heart stopped a long time ago. "Please?"

For a moment, he has to close his eyes. And there, behind his lowered lids, Louis sees Harry in the hospital that first day, head bent as he earnestly debated the best colored pencil for Lise to use next. And Harry three weeks ago, who somehow sorted the highly specialized way to rock Owen to sleep without a word of guidance. And Harry just hours earlier, eyes closed and nose pressed to Lise's hair as she slept comfortably in his lap after one of the longest, hardest afternoons of her young life. This is... exactly what he wants and exactly what he can't risk having but he will be damned if his children don't keep Harry in their life.

"Yeah, kid, yeah," he sighs, opening his eyes. "I'd like that. And Lise would... She'll love it."

Harry beams at him, then. Smile so big it stretches twice the width of the room. Because that's totally, reasonably possible. Louis feels it like a weight against his chest.

"I was thinking, like, I was joking with her that first day we met about going on a date. I promised her a date, so like... Would it be alright if I took her out on my own? Just for a little while, I swear!"

Louis can't help but laugh. Even when suggesting maybe the nicest thing Louis can even think of, Harry is so eager to please, so worried about making a misstep. It's horribly lovely.

"Sounds perfect. Lise will probably explode into a pile of glitter and Dr. Martens when you ask her."

Harry giggles and honestly, he's going to be the end of Louis someday if he keeps that up. Probably soon.

"What do you think she'd like to do?"

"Well, she is having a bit of an intense sushi phase right now, so that might be nice. And I promise she can behave herself in a restaurant."

"I'm sure she-- Wait, your... Your 5-year-old is having a sushi phase?" Harry asks, half-laughing and shaking his head. "That's... she's got a very developed palate, I guess."

"She only really eats the vegetable ones, but it's... This is going to sound crazy, but her mother craved sushi all the time when she was pregnant with Lise. I think that's where she got it from. Nora used to joke that Lise was 90% cucumber-avocado roll, 5% horchata, and 5% Tomlinson."

"Alright then. Sushi date it is. Jamie was telling me about this place he's proper obsessed with. I'll get the name from him," Harry muses, pinching his lower lip and then pulling it between his teeth.

"Jamie?" Louis asks, eyes still fixated on Harry's lower lip.

"Oliver."

"Oh, yeah, no, 'course. Of course. Your mate Jamie Oliver," he laughs, slightly hysterically.

Louis feels more flustered than he should by Harry's casual name drop. It's not like he doesn't know Harry's famous. It's not like he doesn't know Harry is friendly with Jamie. Lise once made him buy a magazine that featured all these pictures of Harry out and about with the families of his famous friends-- James Corden, Jamie Oliver, the like. Honestly. Louis should have seen all of this coming a mile away. He doesn't know what's gotten into him.

"Hey," Harry says, suddenly all up in Louis' space. Louis keeps his eyes trained on his knees.

A moment later one of Harry's huge paws presses against Louis' jaw, guiding him to look back up, to meet his eyes. Every ounce of oxygen leaves the room just then. If oxygen is even measured in ounces, Louis doesn't know. And he doesn't know why he's thinking so much about measuring the volume of anything when Harry's eyes are on him like this, except that maybe it's impossible to accept that Harry's eyes really are on him like this. He's hallucinating. He has to be. Because he can feel Harry's thumb, once resting just beside the corner of his mouth, begin to drag across his lower lip. The pressure is maddening and there's just no way that's real. It can't be. But when Harry rolls Louis' lip down and sucks in a harsh breath, it feels solid, and it takes everything Louis has in him, every ounce of fear-driven self-control, to keep from giving in to the hallucination. From pressing his lips into a kiss against the digit, or worse, sucking it into his mouth.

"I'm just me," Harry says, eyes still fixed on the place where his thumb meets Louis' lip, and Louis doesn't know what to do, almost doesn't recognize the whimpering sound as his own until Harry's groan provides stark contrast, and then Harry's thumb is gone, and there are Harry's lips, so, so, so close to his own. "It's just me," he whispers again, breath fanning out across Louis' mouth, before closing the space between them.

If Louis ever offers anyone any kind of detailed account of this kiss, he will be lying. Because the particulars are stripped from his consciousness just as they happen. They never even have the chance to become memories.

He has no idea what Harry's mouth is doing, or how he's responding. Not even the faintest clue about how he'll ever describe the feeling that's pressing all the air out of his lungs, because he can't begin to fathom it even in the moment it occurs. And then that moment is passed, and so is another one. And suddenly all he knows is that in the rush of trying to keep up, he's climbed into Harry's lap.

With a gasp, Louis pulls away to press their foreheads together so he can try to breathe, or something, but Harry's hands are insistent at the small of his back, his chin is determined as he tilts it in search of Louis' lips again.

"Harry," Louis whimpers. And he would be embarrassed if Harry gave him the time. He would.

But Harry shakes his head and and grunts and finally finds purchase for his mouth against Louis' and everything starts again. But there's nothing manic or crazed about this kiss. No desperation to push anything further. This one, Louis thinks, he will probably remember. Will maybe call their first kiss. Even if it's their second. Or is it still their first? Does the kiss become something separate, new, when he breaks to breathe? Or is this all one continuous kiss, and if so, could it continue in perpetuity?

In this unguarded moment, Louis thinks he might like to find out.

Louis thinks about the wet slide of their lips and the insistent sweep of Harry's tongue and the heat of his breath as he adjusts, tilting their heads the opposite way and pressing forward for more. He thinks about the high sound at the back of his throat, and the clutch of his knees at Harry's hips. The way Harry slows them down and speeds them up and probably tastes every feeling Louis has ever tried to push away or swallow or otherwise hide. He thinks about learning the patterns at the roof of Harry's mouth and the edges of his teeth. About the things Harry seems to be telling him with each close of his lips, each nip of his teeth. _I want you, I know you, I want to know you._

And suddenly, it's too much. With another whimper -- this one more embarrassing, more sad -- Louis pulls away. His chest is heaving and his heart is pounding and Harry won't let him go. Instead he follows until his forehead is pressed into the juncture of Louis' shoulder and neck, his breath skittering down Louis' chest. For a moment, Harry's arms tighten about Louis' waist, but then he pulls back, too. Louis feels like his heart could slam to a stop at the look in Harry's eyes, ravenous and stormy.

"I--" Harry recoils for a second, like the sound of his own voice shocks him, which Louis can understand, but he shakes his head and continues after half a breath anyway. "I should go," he finishes, voice nearly a whisper.

Everything in Louis freezes up. His heart must stop, too. It must.

"No, Lou," Harry murmurs, running his hands up Louis' chest to clutch at both his cheeks. "It's nothing like that. It's just. It's late. And I know Leelee and OO will be up early in the morning and you have work and... I just don't want to keep you up, babe."

Louis' eyes flutter closed. _Babe_. Harry said 'babe' and he's not sure he can believe it and everything still feels horribly beyond his control. Everything hurts.

"Shh," Harry exhales against his mouth, "You should get some rest," he finishes, taking one last kiss, before Louis finds the strength to climb out of his lap.

Louis watches Harry wipe at his lips and gather his things and make his way back past the couch, heading for the front door. He lets Harry kiss his forehead and ruin his fingers through his hair, and he doesn't bite his lip too hard or cry or even think much, really.

But once Harry is gone, promising to call the next day, everything sort of falls into bits inside him. Because he's going to want that kiss again, and again, maybe forever. He can feel it. It's in the phantom teeth at his lower lip, the phantom fingers clutching at his lower back. And there doesn't seem to be any reality wherein this works out well for him -- this single dad and a pop-star thing -- not when he's feeling so much so fast, after one bloody stupid kiss. Or two. Whichever. However you count it it's already clear to him that none of it is enough.

And Harry. Harry who's bright and beautiful and young and strapped to a rocket aimed for the sky. He doesn't need someone like Louis in his life right now. Maybe no one does. But definitely not Harry. He was just... drunk. And sad and exhausted and wrung out and looking for comfort after a wretched day. And Louis knows that. Louis wishes he hadn't given in.

But he had. And he gives in again when he feels a sob twist up his throat. He's intoxicated enough to let the tears come, now. To drop his head into his hands and cry until he's cried out. And it's hard to tell exactly who he's crying for -- Franny or Lise or Harry -- but he thinks maybe it's mostly for himself. The house has never been so quiet.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm that jerk author who is always apologizing, I know. I'm just hardcore living the #agencylife right now so work is basically a non-stop thing. But I really am sorry there's been such delays between chapters.
> 
> I hope your holidays were all lovely and gorgeous and full of people you adore and good food and booze and all that. Mine certainly were. Even if I ended up working on half my days off. Plus, Santa brought me a pair of amazing Dr. Martens chelsea boots and I feel very 1D in my soul right now.
> 
> Anyway. I also hope you enjoyed this nice long chapter. Some things happened here, didn't they? ;)
> 
> I love these characters and can't wait to share more of them with you in 2016. 
> 
> xL
> 
> ps. If you're looking to emotionally cut yourself, especially if you're single, Sondheim's ["Sorry/Grateful"](https://youtu.be/QiqiTrMVLdQ) and ["Being Alive](https://youtu.be/eBBPKedba5o) from Company, which were mentioned in this here chapter, are excellent weapons.


	7. Chapter 7

K + three.

 

It's been three days since Harry finally, FINALLY, kissed Louis Tomlinson full on the mouth and it's almost literally all he's thought about since then. He's even written two shoddy, half-formed songs about it in secret, deeply afraid to show them to anyone, because.. Well. That would make them real. And if they're real they're probably going to jinx him, and he hasn't actually spoken to Louis since the kiss and he's trying to be calm about that, really he is, but like... it's hard.

 

Because he wants to repeat that shit  _immediately_. And then again right after that. And then again right after that, too.

 

But that's going to be hard to do if Louis is ignoring him. Which like, Harry can't prove Louis is ignoring him. Sure, Sophia had answered Louis’ phone the last time he’d called — to ask Lise on that ‘date’ — but she swore that was because Louis was in the loo at the time. And, okay, Louis actually _has_ been replying to Harry's texts to schedule that sushi outing with Lise. It's just that he's been... quiet about it. If quiet's a way someone can be over text. Professional, like. Sticking strictly to relevant details.

 

Harry hates it.

 

But he's working on being calm. Or at least appearing that way. Because he is a bloody adult. And he'll see Louis again in less than four hours, when he picks Lise up for their date, and he's just going to be real about this. He's going to be a big boy, and be straight up about what he wants, and just ask Louis out on a date of their own. An adults-only affair, after which he hopes Louis will kiss his lips right off his face. And maybe put his hands down his pants, too. You know, if he's really, really lucky. And _god_  Harry's getting a bit hard just thinking about it. He really, really needs to take it down a notch. Or twelve.

 

It's just... Harry has wanted Louis, in some way or another, since the moment they first met, and that was nearly four months ago now. And it keeps getting sharper, this want, the way it shapes itself inside his chest. Kissing Louis has only sped up the process of Harry's downfall. He's sinking into his own feelings fast, now.

 

Because kissing Louis was... God, such a fucking cliche. Kissing Louis was better than he could have imagined ever, in any universe. And Harry has an active imagination, okay? It's how he always gets himself into trouble with the wrong men. And maybe it's getting him into even more trouble with Louis, now, because some part of him knows that this won't be easy. That it can't be. Louis is a father. And yeah, Harry's dated fathers before, to be sure. But their children were... nearly Harry's age, usually. They weren't like... the same. The same kind of minute to minute responsibility or presence or anything. Harry never even met them most of the time.

 

But Louis. Gorgeous, smart, bright-edged Louis Tomlinson. He's got... babies, really. And Harry can see space for himself there, in the world around the three Tomlinsons. But he knows that Louis has to see it, too. And he knows, logically, that even if Louis does make space for him — for them — it won't be a smooth transition for anyone. It may never work.

 

But fuck if Harry can tell that to his heart.

 

Which, honestly, just needs to calm the fuck down. Because at this point, the only way he can manage the nervous energy is to tear through every item of clothing in his wardrobe in search of the perfect outfit. Which is just ridiculous, really. He feels a bit like one of those asshole American kids on My Super Sweet Sixteen. The ones who go to an hilariously pathetic level of effort getting all done up just to hand out an invitation. Only he isn’t a child. And this isn’t a party. This is. This is real. 

 

This is Louis Tomlinson, who Harry wants in every way he can possibly have him. (Especially the sexy ways.) The ones that are… well, just that bit _more_  that Louis has ever been able to give him.

 

So Harry is left with hope. And too much energy. And a perpetual loop of words in his mind, psyching himself up to as Louis out and reminding him tonight is about Lise, too. Because he’s taking Lise to dinner. There’s going to be a conveyor belt of sushi, and hours of alone time, and maybe it will open them up to a world of possibility and maybe it will just be fun. But whatever it is… Harry knows he won’t be able to focus completely until he just asks Louis out. So he needs to tear the plaster off, and fast. The next few hours cannot pass fast enough.

 

&

 

It's a good job Harry doesn't immediately blurt out "OMG CAN I TAKE YOU TO DINNER PLEASE DON'T SAY NO I'LL CRY AND BEG I FUCKING SWEAR!" the literal instant Louis opens the front door. That would be embarrassing. Way more embarrassing than the way he trips over his own two feet on the lintel and nearly crushes Owen, who is stood beside Louis, and that’s saying something.

 

God. Why can’t Harry just be cool about this?

 

"Lou," he says, stupidly breathless. "Hi."

 

"Hey H," Lou replies, smiling a bit stiffly before raising his voice to theatrical levels. "Harry Styles, are you here to pick my daughter up for a DATE?!"

 

Louis winks and Harry knows that's his cue to play along. But also, he's maybe going to die if Louis does that again and it definitely takes him too long to react. Louis gives him a poke before sweeping down to pull Owen up into his arms. Harry stares at his arse as he replies.

 

"Yes, sir, I am. Is... Is Lise ready?"

 

"She'll be down in a mo, Mr. Styles. I trust you understand she has a curfew?"

 

"Yes, sir." 

 

"I'll thank you not to forget that."

 

"Oh, no, sir. I would never! I'm a good boy, me," he replies, making deliberate eye contact with Louis at the end.

 

Louis himself seems to stumble a bit, but covers by adjusting Owen in his arms, then, offering Owen to Harry when the little boy reaches out. Harry feels absurdly triumphant on so many levels.

 

"Lise, my heart, come along, can't keep your date waiting any longer! He looks _awfully_ nervous."

 

Only moments later, Lise is at the top of the stairs, rolling her eyes and huffing " _Daddy_ " like Louis is the most embarrassing person on earth. She has no idea. Harry is clearly the most embarrassing person on earth. He's already got his iPhone in his free hand, snapping pictures of her as she comes down the stairs in her sparkly party dress, trailed by Sophia.

 

"Owen," Lise whines when she reaches the foot of the stairs. "You always hog Harry, get down, it's _my_ date with Harry. It's mine!"

 

"Lise," Louis warns. "Your brother was saying hello. You can share Harry for a minute. You'll have him to yourself all night."

 

Harry gives Owen a kiss on the cheek and passes him back to Louis, then crouches to reach for Lise's hand.

 

"You look beautiful, Miss Tomlinson," he says, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Lise blushes and it's amazingly sweet. "I like the sparkles on your dress."

 

"Thank you, Harry. Daddy said I could wear my fanciest dress tonight if I wanted. You're supposed to be fancy for a date."

 

"Of course, button. The fanciest. I'm lucky to have a lady like you on my arm tonight," Harry gushes, looking over Lise's shoulder to wink and Louis and Sophia. "Shall we?" He asks, offering his elbow. Lise makes a funny face but slips her fingers into his elbow anyhow.

 

Harry stands, leaning down to accommodate Lise's much tinier stature for a moment before giving in and sweeping her up onto his hip. A giggle peels out as Lise kicks at his side and urges him out the door with a “Giddyup!"

 

"Remember, Styles, curfew!"

 

"Yes sir!" he replies, over his shoulder, rolling his eyes teasingly at Lise. "Oh, wait!"

 

"Wait?" Louis and Lise ask at the same time.

 

"Can you stay here for a second, button?" Harry asks, slipping Lise down to stand on the path between the front door and the gate.

 

"Mhmm," she nods confidently, still clearly a bit out of sorts. Harry doesn't blame her, he feels the same way. He's just... got to do this now.

 

Harry jogs the few steps back up to the door, where Louis is standing, one hand on the inside as if he paused halfway through closing it behind them. Harry only stops when he's got his left hand resting on the frame, his right hand gripping the doorknob as he leans toward Louis.

 

"What's this?" Louis asks, reaching his free hand up to gesture at Harry sort of confusedly.

 

"This," Harry begins, reaching out to take hold of Louis' hand, "Is me asking you out on a date. A real one. Adults only," he finishes, brushing a kiss over Louis' knuckles.

 

"Oh, I--" for half a second Louis freezes completely and Harry's heart transfigures into a lead weight in his chest. For half a second. "I, yeah. I'd love that, yeah," Louis replies, combing back to life and smiling something absolutely awful in it's bright beauty.

 

"Good. Cause I wasn't planning on taking no for an answer," he murmurs, sweeping in for a very quick peck on the lips.

 

"Of course you weren't, you pain in me--"

 

"Louis! Language!" he teases, mock-scandalized.

 

"Get out of here, kid. My little girl shouldn't be kept waiting. Even by pop stars."

 

"As you wish, babe. Just... Friday night, you're mine, so... book a sitter or whatever while I'm gone.  When I get back I'm going to snog you senseless and make dinner reservations."

 

"I heard that, Styles!" Sophia shouts from somewhere further down the corridor. "Quit two-timing my niece and get the eff out of here!"

 

With a laugh, and and improbably lighter step (honestly, how he could be any more buzzing than he was when he arrived is truly beyond Harry) he turns to meet Lise near the gate. He's got a date tonight, and a date Friday, and there's pretty much nothing on earth that could make Harry happier.

 

***

 

"I must say, Styles, when you asked me out on a date, I really just was not expecting this," Louis says, contemplating Harry over the rim of his bare mug.

 

"What were you expecting?" Harry asks on a laugh, eyes bright, before he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and really, honestly, he has to stop doing that or Louis is going to cause a scene in the middle of this very family-oriented pottery-painting joint and they've only been here for a quarter of an hour.

 

It's just... Louis is completely attuned to every move Harry's body makes, right now. Every part of him in some kind of insane, heightened state, wherein his senses belong to Harry. It's a little embarrassing and a lot stressful and god he just _wants_. But instead, he's got to paint a coffee mug. This is complete madness. Also, his daughter got to have sushi in a joint with Michelin Stars and a conveyor belt, so...

 

"A Michelin star?" Louis asks, trying to sound sort of teasing. If that's even possible for him at this point.

 

Harry guffaws, before swapping his paint brush for a pencil and applying extreme focus to sketching something onto the side of his mug which Louis can't see.

 

"Gotta save something for the third date, Lou," he says, without even looking up, and Louis can't stop himself from trapping one of Harry's ankles between his feet and giving a tug as he whines. "Besides, who says I don't have something very fancy up my sleeve for the drinks portion of the evening?"

 

"So this is just the start?" Louis asks, finally picking up a pencil himself.

 

"It better be," Harry intones, waggling his eyebrows at Louis, who's stomach lurches at the implication, even though he really should just be put off by how cheesy Harry Styles truly is.

 

&

 

Three hours later, Louis is beginning to feel fatigue. They're still sat in Art 4 Fun, half-tucked behind a shelving unit in the middle of the room. Harry's got his back to everyone but Louis and it feels warm and intimate and it's been fun. It has. Every stupid minute of art and meandering conversation, of greasy pizza and cheap red wine. It's just... the design for his mug was simple: color blocked stripes of white, hunting orange and olive drab that coordinate with the desk accessories in his office. And even with his extreme attention to detail -- sue him, he's a designer -- it was done about an hour and a half ago. But Harry? Harry is still very carefully perfecting the details on his mug. A turquoise monstrosity with maroon stripes, and a giant bunch of bananas painted on the one side. He seems very intent on keeping his stripes perfectly straight, the lines where the goldenrod of the bananas meets the turquoise of the mug very neat. And very _very_ intent on getting the detail of each individual banana as accurate as possible.

 

Louis is going to die if Harry doesn't finish soon. Because when he's concentrating, Harry alternates poking his tongue out just slightly with chewing on his lips and Louis hasn't been able to look at anything else for the last hour, and they're still playing footsie under the table and honestly, would it be that unreasonable for Louis to smash the mug out of Harry's hands and climb into his lap to bite at those lips himself? ...Okay. So he's begun to lose sight of the lines between reasonable and unreasonable behavior in public. He's exhausted, right? It's hard to remember.

 

Which, by the by, is very bad. Because while it was very easy to forget in Louis' house or the hospital, here, outside in the real world, Harry Styles is very, very famous. And it's very, very clear. Families and groups of friends in the shop have been very poorly not-staring at Harry (and by extension, Louis) all night. Louis can feel their eyes. And he knows... he knows what this looks like, he and Harry here alone, and he is... Well, he hadn't thought about it much, before, and now he's... Well. It's too late, he supposes. They're here. He can't think about it. But he can try not to feed into it. Not to give anyone anything that would define their relationship in one way or another.

 

Because here's the thing... Louis and Harry aren't _in_ a relationship. And maybe no one will give a fuck. Maybe no pictures of this night will ever emerge. No rumors will appear on gossip sites or in tabloids. And maybe thinking about all this is just too much too soon. But Louis doesn't want to pile anything else on top of whatever it is he and Harry are trying to be.

 

So he's really, really got to play it cool.

 

It's exhausting.

 

&

 

Two hours after that, Louis has honestly abandoned his self control. Or lost it, really. It went missing somewhere in the Marylebone streets, probably, though he can't be sure where. Which he supposes his the whole point of something being lost. Not knowing where it is, and oh _jesus_ , Louis is a little drunk.

 

Harry's booked them this enormous shimmery golden cave thing at the back of Purl, which is a bar Louis has never been to with drinks so good you can't really stop yourself from drinking them too fast, as if in some misguided attempt to taste the whole menu before you leave. Bad news for restraint. Good news for Harry, it seems. Because he appears to be totally delighted by the way Louis keeps sliding closer to him on the banquette.

 

"S'quiet back here," Louis murmurs, running a finger in the seam between where his knee meets Harry's on the bench.

 

"I know, s'why I booked us a whole cave thingy," Harry looks up from where he'd been watching Louis' finger to smile from beneath his lashes.

 

"So no one can see us?"

 

"So less people see us," Harry amends, very precisely.

 

It's true. There's wait staff. And people sometimes amble by, exploring the space. But Harry's got his back to the corridor, so no strangers have noticed him, and he seems to trust the staff's discretion.

 

"Do you think there will be pictures?" Louis asks, trusting Harry to understand him. His voice sounds smaller than he means it to and in an attempt to offset that, he begins tracing patterns up Harry's knee and toward his thigh.

 

"While you were in the loo I very politely asked a few people at Art 4 Fun not to post the pictures they snagged, offered to pose with them instead. And I didn't see any paps on the way here. So I think we're safe for tonight."

 

Louis attempts to gather his thoughts, fingers swirling ever higher up Harry's thigh, then back down again. He can see Harry's breathing change as he sweeps closer to his body, releasing when his fingers trace away. Louis quite likes the power he seems to have, here.

 

"Are you nervous about people seeing us together?" Harry asks cautiously.

 

"No? Yes? I don't know, I mean, both I guess," Louis catches himself rambling stupidly and takes a slow breath. "It's just a lot. I didn't think about it before it was already happening, because I forgot how famous you are, like. To me you became just, this... This lad who hangs out with my daughter and her friends, and--"

 

"Just a lad who hangs out with your daughter and her friends? Is that all?" Harry asks, raising a teasing eyebrow.

 

"Well, also a lad who, it turns out, I quite like snogging from time to time."

 

"Just snogging?" Harry asks, challenge in his voice as he presses Louis’ hand flat against his upper thigh with a warm palm.

 

"Well, we haven't tried anything else yet, but I--" he gulps as Harry drags their hands a bit higher. "I mean, it's been a while for me, kid, but I'm... I'm fairly confident I'll, or we'll, enjoy some other things, too."

 

"Me as well," Harry murmurs, leaning in so his mouth drags against the shell of Louis' ear with the words.

 

For a few moments Louis has to struggle to breathe normally. He's not sure he wants Harry to know how badly he wants this, or see his chest heave or his thighs twitch. But in this corner, tucked away from everything, all of Louis' feelings, all his desires, seem magnified. Multiplied. It's terrifying. It's so soon.

 

"But hey," Harry softens, seeming to sense that Louis needs a moment and pulling back to take Louis' hand in both of his. "I want this," he gestures between them, "to be a thing. A real one. And I don't care who sees us together, we're two consenting adults. But I understand that it's probably a lot for you -- it's a lot for me, sometimes, too -- so we can keep this under wraps for a while, okay? Find ways to stay off the radar."

 

"You want this to be a thing?" Louis asks, can't stop himself from asking, biting into a tentative smile as he meets Harry's eyes.

 

"Course I do, Lou. I want... Maybe it's really early to be saying this, but I think we could make a real go of it. And that's what I want." He sighs. "And there are probably a thousand reasons why you should laugh at me, and give me a peck on the cheek before you hightail it out of here. I know that. Believe me, I do, babe. But..."

 

"But?"

 

"But I really, really hope you give me a chance instead."

 

Louis feels laughter bubble up inside him. And he knows. He _knows_. They should probably talk more about this. Because Jesus Christ his life is a fucking disaster, anchored at the center by two of the most beautiful humans he's ever known, who are his sole responsibility to raise from children into even more beautiful adults. And he's so scared. He really, truly is, despite the light feeling of laughter in his chest. Despite the warm tug in his belly that seems to emanate from Harry's general direction every time he's near. Because this could go wrong seven thousand ways to Sunday. He can see all the ways he'll be hurt. And worse, all the ways this could hurt his children.

 

But fuck. _Fuck_. Harry is looking at him so hopefully, biting that goddamn lower lip again, and Louis literally cannot take it any more. _He_ should be biting that lip. So. So that's exactly what he's going to do.

 

Louis surges onto his knees, clamoring into Harry's lap and reaching out to pull his lower lip free. Harry looks up at him and Louis shakes his head just slightly, smiling, mouthing _stop that_. And _mine_. And then he sweeps down to close the space between them.

 

Harry is whimpering into the kiss even before Louis sinks his teeth into Harry's lower lip, giving it a harsh tug as he pulls away, exhaling hard through his nose and gasping as Harry surges forward to take more of whatever Louis can give. It takes a few minutes of ravenous kissing for either one of them to remember they're still in public.

 

"So you're telling me there's a chance?" Harry asks, cheekily.

 

"Fuck off, Styles," he groans, dropping his head back and giving Harry's shoulders a shove. "And get me home right now."

 

Harry growls, shifting Louis off his lap and bursting to his feet. With a tug, he frees a wallet from his back pocket and drops an absurd stack of bills on the table with barely half a glance before reaching down to take Louis' hand.

 

"Yeah. Definitely not waiting for you to change your mind," he whispers against Louis' ear, sucking on his earlobe and then the bend of his jaw before abruptly turning to tug Louis out of the alcove behind him.

 

And Louis still knows that they should talk. Maybe for that exact reason. So that there's no confusion on Harry's part as to what Louis' intentions are. Or vice versa, really. Though Louis isn't sure he'll ever believe that this is real. But wait. No. He knows, he does, that there's... Louis knows there's no room for confusion. And it's the least romantic thing he can even think of, all the honest shit he needs to iron out with Harry. But he can't afford to fly blind anymore. He's tool old for that. Too widowed with children for that. And he won't let anything make him needy, or desperate, or muddled.

 

But Harry pauses once more before they enter the corridor, slides a slick, promising kiss across Louis' mouth, and at that, all thoughts are gone. Replaced by a looping chant of _home, home, home,_ inside his head.

 

 

***

 

 

Harry barely has Louis through the door before he's being pressed against one of the bookcases in the entry, Louis' lips -- wet and open and insistent -- devouring his own hungrily.

 

It'd taken ages just to get inside, the ability to operate keys (and even his own hands just in general) no more than a distant memory with Louis plastered against his back, fingers dancing across the skin just above the waistband of Harry's jeans as he licked a sloppy line up behind Harry's ear. And now, as Louis kisses him, tongue dragging a light, shiver-inducing line across the roof of Harry's mouth, he's pretty certain he's going to nut in his pants well before they make it to any kind of horizontal surface. He's just wanted this for so long. And christ. Louis' mouth.

 

Christ.

 

"Oh god," Harry groans, the minute Louis' lips abandon his mouth to focus on his ear, and neck, and collarbones. He slams a fisted hand back into a stack of books as he uses the other to haul Louis closer by the small of his back. "Fuck, Lou."

 

"Mmm," Louis hums against his pulse point, nipping at him gently before scratching his teeth up to Harry's opposite ear. Harry rolls his hips up almost involuntarily. "Wanted this a long time, haven't you, kid?"

 

Harry groans over and again as Louis drives his thigh upward. This sudden commanding confidence is probably going to be Harry's undoing.

 

"Fuck, yes. Since--" he gasps, "since the moment I saw you."

 

Louis pulls back and pauses for what can't be more than a second, though it feels like a century between them. He looks surprised. Like he didn't expect so much honesty. Or maybe like he just didn't know in the first place. It seems ridiculous to Harry to even think that Louis hadn't noticed the way Harry's whole being had stuttered to a halt in his presence. How his world had skipped a beat. But maybe he hadn’t.

 

Louis squints his eyes, perhaps to try and find the lie. But there's none there. Harry knows that to the bottom of his being. He can admit that now. It costs him nothing.

 

He'll never know if Louis sees what he needs to, or if he just decides that whatever it is he was looking for never mattered to begin with, not in that moment. All he knows is the way Louis surges forward with a newfound desperation, claiming Harry's mouth as if he can bite every letter of every word from Harry's tongue and make them all his own.

 

When Louis' hand slips up under his shirt, flattening against his belly, Harry feels his stomach clench, and things get desperate. They have to get to the bedroom, now. Now.

 

"Fuck," he grinds out as Louis' hand suddenly fists around the waistband of his jeans. "Fuck, Lou, please, babe, my room, my room. I'm not gonna make it if you don't--"

 

He's cut off by Louis sinking to his knees and flipping the button at his fly open with ease. Louis noses a line up beside the zipper as he pulls it down with the other hand, then nips at Harry's treasure trail as he catches the top of his jeans and pants in his hands and slides them down in one go.

 

"There we are," he murmurs, awed, as Harry's cock springs free from it's confines -- and jesus, were those jeans confining.

 

"Lou," he whimpers.

 

"Yeah, kid?" Louis asks, looking up at him innocently even as he licks his palm and grasps the base of Harry's cock. Harry's forgotten what he wants to say.

 

"God, fuck, you're beautiful. M'sorry, please don't... Don't stop."

 

"Wouldn't dream of it, kid," he replies before taking as much of Harry's length as he can in one go, sinking down until his lips meet his fist.

 

Harry's pretty sure he blacks out at the sight, but maybe he's just hallucinated the whole thing in the first place. Because honestly, how can this Louis, so smart and sharp and driven, be here, on his knees, for Harry?

 

&

 

"I can't believe I just came three times in two hours," Louis marvels.

 

Harry smiles, continuing to ghost his fingertips up and down the curve of Louis' spine in a soothing pattern. Louis adjusts in his arms so he's more on his stomach, the point of his chin digging into Harry's chest.

 

"Don't smile at me like that, Styles. This may be standard Friday night fare for your lot, but I'm a million years old. I didn't know my dick could _do_ that anymore. And, oh, my god, I have to stop thinking about how often you come with anyone who isn't me."

 

"S'been a long time, babe. A long time since there was anyone."

 

Which is true. Harry may be a young, in-demand pop star. There may be men and women falling at his feet. But he's been... Sad. And maybe a little jaded. And sex hasn't seemed like an appealing solution for quite some while now. Being balls deep in a stranger wasn't going to solve his problems, really. And Harry isn't eighteen anymore. He knows better.

 

But Louis isn't a stranger. Louis is something.

 

Harry likes that thought. He's...

 

"Are you... Styles, are you getting hard _again_?"

 

Clearly. Harry _likes_ that thought.

 

"That twenty-two year old dick of yours is a complete menace and I cannot wait to get my mouth on it again," Louis says, eyes alight, as he kisses down Harry's side and ducks clumsily (but enthusiastically) under Harry's thigh to lie between his legs.

 

Harry comes again quickly, because Louis' mouth is magical. It's aces. And probably because he's been fantasizing about this for something like four months now that there's some kind of backlog of orgasms that his body wants to clear as quickly as possible. Louis doesn't seem bothered and Harry is too besotted to be embarrassed, really. Too focused on wishing he didn't have to let Louis go home some time soon, so he could give it a go and test Louis' limits, too.

 

"Do you have to leave soon?" he asks timidly, after a thorough kiss wherein which he chased the last of his own taste from Louis' mouth. "I don't... I don't know who's with the kids, and it's like 2 am so your babysitter might want to kill you by now, but..."

 

"Hmmm?" Louis asks, sounding sleepy and distracted as he resettles himself beside Harry in the bed, fidgeting until he's comfortable with his head on Harry's shoulder and his cheek on Harry's chest.

 

Harry resumes tracing a finger up and down the line of Louis' spine, this time between his shoulder blades, while Louis presses half-kisses to his chest, too tired and sated and lazy to turn his face to make complete mouth-to-skin contact. Harry feels himself smiling like a dope. Again.

 

"You weren't listening at all, were you?"

 

"Nope," Louis replies, popping the p and adjusting just slightly to smile cheekily up at Harry, despite his sleepy eyes. "Don't look so put out. It's just... you smell so good it's distracting."

 

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Tomlinson."

 

"Course it will," he replies, pausing to yawn. "Got me a whole entire company people seem to think I'm qualified to help run, didn't it? 'M not about to stop now."

 

"I was just asking if you had to go soon, like..."

 

"You kicking me out, kid?"

 

"More like hoping you'd stay," he suggests gently, watching Louis eyelashes sweep as he blinks slowly.

 

"Mmm," he murmurs, tucking his face down a bit, pressing into Harry's side. His voice is soft and slow when he continues, "M'not moving now. Stuck with me till morning, at least."

 

Harry tries to hide the smile that pulls across his lips. He does. But he's pretty sure he's completely unsuccessful. Fortunately, Louis appears to be drifting off to sleep rather faster than Harry had counted on, so it doesn't seem like he's been caught.

 

It takes a few minutes, but as soon as he can control the movement of his lips, Harry ducks to press a kiss to the crown of Louis' head, squeezing him tight. Louis sighs quietly, scrunching his nose twice against Harry's side, before snuggling deeper down into the bed, almost completely unconscious. Harry's heart is beating too hard for him to follow easily, and he's sure it'll take him ages to drift off now. He'll probably sleep poorly, too, waking a thousand times in the night to gaze over the planes of Louis' face. But he finds he doesn't much mind the idea. Or the lost sleep.

 

&

 

It's about 9 am when Harry wakes to an empty bed. His back is all knotted up from the weird position he's sleeping in, and there's a there's a twinge in his bum, but he's surprisingly calm about the fact that the sheets beside him are cooler than he'd hoped for. After a long, languorous stretch, wherein his right calf threatens to turn into a giant horrible knot, Harry pads to the chest of drawers and fishes out a clean pair of pants.

 

He finds Louis sitting on the dining table under the glass ceiling, cross-legged, clutching a mug and staring out into the back garden. He's wearing a pair of pants that Harry is fairly certain belong to him -- these are dinosaur print, and last night Louis was wearing black -- and a stretched out white tee that Harry is definitely certain belongs to him. It dips low in the front, putting enough of Louis' chest piece on display that it makes Harry's mouth go dry instantly when he slides up into Louis' space. To be fair, though, it might just be the sight of Louis in his clothes that's got Harry so worked up so quickly.

 

"Hey," he says, softly, resting his hands on Louis' knees.

 

"Hey," Louis replies, coming back into himself and smiling, "Hi."

 

"Couldn't sleep?"

 

"8 am is a lie-in for me, kid," Louis offers with a smile, turning his face up for a kiss which Harry grants immediately.

 

"Mmm, tea," he murmurs at the taste on Louis' tongue, before leaning in for another peck while reaching for the mug in Louis' hands. He takes a sip. "Could do with some honey."

 

"Heathen," Louis teases, snatching the mug back.

 

"Did you sleep well?" Harry asks, pressing his fingertips into a sore spot on his back.

 

"Like the dead, kid. Best sleep I've had in the hundred thousand years since Owen was born," Louis says, smiling and running his knuckles up Harry's stomach. " _And_ I woke on me own, no alarm, no tiny fingers prodding at me face. S'been a gorgeous morning so far, like," Louis pauses for a second and the dreamy look wipes off his face. "Hey, what's wrong, kid?"

 

"Nothing, nothing," he replies, leaning down for a kiss, which Louis keeps short. "I'm fine, s'just, my back's sore."

 

"Wait, stop, are you hurt?" Louis asks, panic rising in his voice, "Did I hurt you? Come on, H, tell me the--"

 

"No, no, babe, it wasn't you. I just slept funny, I think."

 

Louis face softens but he allows himself a small smile.

 

"Okay, come here to me, then, love," he begins, pulling Harry closer by his hips, then turning him around and pulling his bum to rest on the edge of the table. "How's this?" he asks, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck before hooking his chin over Harry's shoulder.

 

Harry melts backward as Louis digs his fingers into the knots beside Harry's spine. If Louis' mouth was magic last night, this morning it's his fingers, pressing and pushing and smoothing knots away with the perfect tension, so it hurts only a little, only the best way possible, and his muscles seem to liquefy in their wake. He lets his head hang forward, like a puppet with it's strings cut, and Louis methodically works from his lower back up to his shoulder blades, occasionally pressing tiny kisses to his neck.

 

When he finishes, Louis pulls back to drop a single kiss to the nape of his neck and another to the top of his spine, exhaling gently through his nose. Harry, not quite ready to let the moment end, captures Louis' hands in his and pulls them around, pressing them to his tummy and squeezing. When Louis hums, resting his forehead against Harry's back, Harry feels unbearably content.

 

"More tea, babe?" he asks after a while, reluctantly pulling away to head for the kitchen, Louis' fingers kept caught in his.

 

For a second Louis appears distracted before he replies, "Mmm, yeah."

 

Harry almost trips when Louis stands. The shirt -- which must be large even on Harry, _jesus_ \-- slips down to cover so much of Louis that he looks like he's wearing nothing else at all, and. It's... Hot. It's blazing. And it's awful early for Harry to be expected to deal with that in any sort of calm, cool, or collected way. Which is why he lets out some kind of horrible, strangled whining sound that brings a cheeky smile to Louis' face.

 

"Like what you see?" Louis asks.

 

"Never want to see you in anything else again."

 

Louis barks out a laugh at that, yanking Harry's hand to his mouth and biting down on his knuckles just slightly.

 

"Bring me tea, kid. We'll talk about whether or not I ever wear my own pants again after that."

 

"Meet you in the garden," he replies. "With fresh croissants."

 

"The almond-y kind?" Louis asks, hopefully.

 

"All the kinds. They're proofing in the oven right now, just need to bake them off."

 

"Are you telling me you've... You're... You've baked me fresh croissants?"

 

"Sort of? I mean they're... I just set them out to proof. Bought them frozen, like."

 

"That's awful cheeky, Styles. Confident you'd get me back here, huh?"

 

Harry feels himself flush across his cheeks and down his neck. "No, I eh-- Couldn't sleep last night so..."

 

"Couldn't sleep?" Louis asks, looking concerned again.

 

"Was, eh, a little worked up still, when you fell asleep, so..."

 

"H," Louis says fondly, closing the space between them and taking Harry's cheek in his palm as he kisses him sweetly. 

 

"It's silly, I know."

 

"No, it's sweet. You're... you're sweet," Louis says, kissing him gently again. "Just don't sweeten me tea, okay kid?"

 

Harry laughs as Louis shoves him toward the kitchen, stumbling to maintain his balance, and forcing himself to only look over his shoulder twice as Louis makes his way toward the back door. It's gorgeous outside, or, it looks it. Weather report said it would be. And Harry is going to keep Louis here in this little bubble for as long as he can. Because he knows after today, or... in the moment Louis steps out his front door again, really... Everything gets harder. And Harry's ready for that. He knows he is. He has to be, if he wants this. But this morning. It's perfect and hopeful and he's holding on tight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even look at the calendar and think about how long it's been since I updated. I'm horribly sorry. As I've mentioned, the new job is... insane. Working till midnight several nights a week insane. I think it'll calm down soon, but I'm hesitant to make a promise.
> 
> And Imma be honest. Chapter Ten, which is the one I'm currently writing, has been torturing me a bit. I'm getting into some stuff there and it's just... delicate. I want to get it right, you know? Writing even somewhat realistic five-year-olds is hard, yo.
> 
> But I think I've sorted some things. And today I've had a bunch of downtime while en route to London for a business trip, so I just... cracked on with editing this chapter. (I'm legit posting this from the free Wi-Fi at a Starbucks in Clapham Junction while I wait for a friend.)
> 
> I hope you like it. This one was... fun. It's fun.
> 
> Miss you guys. Love this story. More as soon as possible. I won't give up!
> 
> xL


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

 

The thing is, Louis totally has this in hand. He does.

He's so chill, in fact, so not even remotely dying to get the fuck out of this office, that his knee is totally not bobbing up and down like a jackhammer on speed under his desk. Because he is completely, 100% calmly listening to Jana, who is having a creative crisis -- writers block, to be exact -- and he is an excellent employer and mentor who harbors nothing but the hopes of providing critical insight and guidance and inspiration or whatever. He's not even thinking about the blazing hot popstar waiting downstairs to meet him for lunch. And probably a cheeky snog or twelve in the back seat of his car.

Fortunately, sorting Jana out only delays Louis by ten minutes and he knows Harry doesn't have studio time or an interview or anything scheduled immediately after lunch, so they can just... push everything back a tiny bit. Louis is cool. He's calm. He's got this. He's strolling very casually down the back stairs and around the corner to meet Harry's vehicle.

"Oh my god it smells absolutely gorgeous in here, kid, what did you _do_?" Louis asks, climbing into the passenger seat and leaning over to peck Harry on the lips.

"Hit the chippie by my place and got your favorite."

"Are you going to have a _burger_ for lunch, Haz?" Louis plays at being scandalized.

"Absolutely not, you barbarian. _You're_ having a burger. I'm having a salad."

"You're the worst," Louis moans, flopping back in his seat dramatically and clutching at his stomach.

"I know," Harry replies on a horribly cute smile, leaning over for one more peck before putting the car in gear. "I just have that Burberry shoot Friday, so..."

"Kidding, love," he says, reaching out to brush his knuckles down Harry's jaw.

"I know, babe," Harry replies, smiling and turning just enough to kiss his fingers without looking away from the road.

They're sickening. Louis knows this. If he weren't them, Louis would want to punch both of them, or at least make really loud fake puking noises in their general direction. But he is them, and the truth is, while Louis has no real idea what it means to date as an adult, he thinks whatever they're doing is pretty much the loveliest and he doesn't want it to stop or change. It's giddy and sweet and easy and fun.

It's dirty texts during meetings and late night conversations on the phone, whispered, as if the children could somehow hear him through the walls. It's lunch time rendezvous at Harry's place, and hurried handjobs in the loos at tiny, random restaurants all over London, anywhere they think they can sneak in unnoticed. It's daydreams about mini-breaks together and the constant urge to make his phone background a disgusting picture of a smiling kiss in the afternoon sun.

It's this, right here, the way Harry leans slightly toward him as he drives, Louis' fingers tangled in the hair behind his ear.

"What's the plan, kid?" he asks, as Harry navigates away from his office.

"Thought we could go park in that covered garage over by the Barbican and snog in the backseat for an hour?" Harry ask-answers.

"Mmmm, sounds brilliant," Louis hums, giving Harry's hair a gentle tug that has Harry humming too.

They park in a dark corner of the garage, scrambling ridiculously between the seats of Harry's Range Rover to get to the back because... They're idiots? Because getting out of the car seemed like bursting a bubble Louis wasn't willing to break. Lunch consists of Louis being a giddy slob -- juice dripping over his chin until Harry makes enough faces to get him to use a napkin to clean up -- and trying to sneak chips into Harry's salad. Which has _fruit_ in it. He's disgustingly healthy. Louis loves and hates him for it.

After attempting to stab Louis in the hand with his fork for the twelfth time, Harry gives up and puts his salad aside.

"That's it," he growls, using his free hand to clasp Louis' wrist and give him a tug.

In moments, Louis' shifted his mostly-finished bag of chips to the floor and clamored into Harry's lap.  
The kiss starts out slow. Starts with Louis taking Harry's face in his hands, tracing the planes of it with his eyes. Starts with Louis slipping his fingers back behind Harry's ears, tugging at the curls there and smiling when Harry lets his head fall back and his eyes drift closed. Starts with Louis nosing a line up Harry's throat, then kissing down his jaw to his chin before Harry's impatience gets the better of them both and he seals their mouths together in a languid, searching dance.

Things escalate from there, of course, as they always do. Before Harry, Louis hadn't had sex in three years, and frankly, he feels a bit like a teenager again. Like there's no way he can be moderate in the moment. Any moment. Ever. Like there's no possible way he'll ever get enough of this.

"Haz," he murmurs into Harry's mouth, circling his hips until Harry grabs them, pulling Louis forcefully down into his lap.

Together they find a rhythm, mouths and hips meeting and parting and meeting again, all in time. Their time. Louis never wants it to stop. Wants the quiet, private world they've built, with its soundtrack of breath and pulsing blood and fingers brushing fabric, brushing skin, to become their only world. And some part of him, distantly, knows how dangerous that is. There's no room, here, for anyone else. And his life is full, so full, of others, of else. But in that moment he can't help his desire, can't stop the figure eights he's grinding against Harry's lap, the words he's stealing from Harry's mouth, unspoken.

Everything builds and builds until Louis knows his climax is imminent. Harry's just brushed his hand down Louis' sternum and over his stomach until it finds a home against Louis' crotch, and Louis is... He's losing it. That very last tiny shred of control he'd possessed is slipping away from him.

"Please, please," Louis chants against Harry's lips, bucking up into the press of Harry's palm, "Not in my pants."

At least he remembers that. There's no more clean clothing in his office and he hasn't yet started to leave fresh pants in Harry's glovebox either, though perhaps he should consider it.

"Mmmph," Harry moans, taking his other hand out from under the back Louis' shirt and bringing it to his fly to make quick work of the button and zip.

Without ceremony Harry slips his hand into Louis' pants to free him, gathering precome from the tip and sliding down quickly to fist his shaft with perfect pressure. Louis becomes pretty incoherent after that, rocking into the circle of Harry's beautiful hand and panting into his mouth between breathy sounds he could never replicate in a less sex-addled state.

Louis comes with a jolt, exhaling forcefully into Harry's mouth and spilling over Harry's hand and the bottom of his shirt. He's giggling moments later, realizing that while his clothes have been spared, Harry is in a right state. Especially when, with two more forceful thrusts which Louis bears down into, Harry is coming in his pants.

"Look at you, kid," Louis teases, reaching down to take Harry's hand in his and press tiny kisses to the clean parts while he snatches up napkins from the seat beside him.

"S'your fault," Harry slurs, attempting to snuggle closer to Louis. Harry's affectionate and cuddly when he finishes, like a very highly developed koala.

"Oh no you don't, kid, there's jizz all over your shirt and I can't get any on mine." Harry pouts at him. "Work," is all Louis has to say in response.

"Like I said, s'your fault," Harry insists, anyway.

"I beg to differ, but either way, love, we need to clean you up a bit."

With less than half a moment's hesitation, Harry whips his shirt off so he can pull Louis against his chest without further argument. With a sigh, Louis allows it. Harry's skin is still warm, and soft as ever, and Louis knows he has to go back to the office, but he can't bring himself to face reality quite yet. Not when Harry's fingertips are at his lower back, brushing a delicate line up and down his spine. Not when he's still too high to register the stale-chips-and-drying-sex smell of the car. Not when this is still the only place he truly wants to be.

 

  
***

 

Louis is sitting on the dining table again, this time in naught but a pair of the briefs. They're the ones Harry recently bought to keep in his underwear drawer for Louis. He tends to need them after their visits, and Harry knows these are his favorite: ridiculous cheapie ASOS things he can't quite understand Louis' fondness for, other than that they make his arse look good. Great, even. But everything makes Louis' arse look great, in Harry's humble opinion. Because Louis' arse _is_ great. And Harry's fucked models. He _knows_.

"Hey, babe," Harry says, sliding in beside Louis and pressing a kiss into his neck.

Louis hums instead of answering, letting his head fall to the side to expose more skin to Harry's wandering lips. Louis has to leave soon. Harry knows. He always does. Today he's managed a (very) late lunch, and because Lise's school is on a trip, he has a bit longer than usual after that before he has to pick Lise and OO up from their respective schools, but there is a hard stop to their time, as always. Harry tries his best to be gracious about it, he does. He always does. But sometimes it's hard.

When Louis sneaks a hand behind them and traces a delicate line along the edge of his pants, Harry whines, high in his throat and shifts closer, a silent plea for more. Louis laughs and shakes his head. There isn't much time. Fuck. Harry knows.

"What's got you so mad about sitting on me dining table, hmmm?" he asks, trying to distract himself.

"It's my favorite. And I can't exactly do it at home. Bad example to set and all that, so..." Louis sighs, sipping his tea and turning to press a kiss to Harry's bare shoulder. "I can stop if you'd like."

"Never. I love you on this table--" Harry freezes, heart probably literally in his throat, but Louis doesn't seem to notice he just giggles. Harry continues, struggling to recover, to sound completely collected, "Okay, that sounds funny, I know, but..."

It's just. He loves Louis sitting on his kitchen table, and sprawling on his couch, and in the back seat of his car, and the loos at the Indian restaurant off Brick Lane, and... And everywhere. Harry just... loves Louis. Proper loves him, the way his mum loves Robin, or his Nan loves his Granddad. And that's... It's a lot. He knows it's a lot.

But it's true.

And now he just... Doesn't know.

But Louis is smiling at him, giggling still, and leaning in for a kiss. And _that_ Harry knows, that he can handle easily. So he goes.

They kiss lazily, shifting until Harry stands between Louis' knees. Louis tastes like tea, until he tastes like himself, or some combination of Harry and Louis that is it's own special entity, this thing that only exists between them, only when they're this close. Harry sighs, sinking into Louis and letting him control the pace. He could snog Louis for hours, for days, maybe forever, nonstop, if there was some way to not starve to death for want of real nutrition in the meantime. Science could figure that out right?

When Louis' phone rings, Harry feels his whole body react. The world is... there's a whole world outside this hushed apartment. And in it are two children who depend on Louis. There is... this is no world in which Louis can snog Harry all day. And it hurts, just the tiniest bit, to remember that.

It's not that he's envious. He cares about Lise and Owen, too. Wants to be an even bigger part of their lives the very minute Louis is ready. But sometimes he wants to wish them away for a moment -- just for like... a weekend with Louis' mum or something, that's all, nothing permanent -- so he can pretend, for just a little longer than he's ever been allowed, that Louis is wholly his.

This is a hard way to start things, with Harry so young and Louis in the family way.

But it's what he has. And it's what he'll take. It is.

Louis ignores the call, lets their kiss come to it's natural end. Harry rains a few pecks across Louis' bare collarbone and over his shoulder before snatching his mug to take a sip while Louis fiddles with the waistband of Harry's pants with one hand and checks his phone with the other.

"Shit, fuck, I should have answered," he says, letting his forehead crash to Harry's chest.

"What's wrong? Are you late to fetch the kids?"

"No, love, no," he replies, pulling back to meet Harry's eyes and running a hand over his neck. "It's. That was just about OO's birthday. It's in two weeks, and I suck at planning those things on me own, so I was going to hire these people, and shit--"

"Hey, babe, it's fine. You can call them back," Harry soothes, kissing Louis' forehead. "Also, ehm, what if... See, I've still got a bit of time on my hands as recording ramps up, you know? So like. I could help? If you wanted. I could help you plan everything."

"Harry," Louis sighs.

For a minute Harry is afraid to look up. Everything feels so enormous, in this moment. And he doesn't know, maybe doesn't want to know, if he's overstepped some boundary when it comes to Louis' readiness to involve his children in their relationship. Or Harry in his relationship with his children. Or both.

"Harry," Louis repeats. "Love, look at me. That's... It's very kind of you, kid. I don't..."

Harry opens his mouth to interrupt, to back down in self defense when Louis shakes his head firmly.

"I don't want us to take over your life, love. I know this album is really important, that you've been putting it off and everything with the label is tense, and I just don't want us to make this worse for you."

"It's not that, Lou. It's... God, it's _really_ not you. You don't even know. It's just scheduling and stuff, right now. Things are getting back on track, there's just some time before... I'm only saying I've a bit of time. And I _want_ to help. I care about Owen, too."

"I know, kid. Christ, I know. And he loves you too, Jesus does he love you."

"Then let me help, Lou. I promise it won't take much, I won't go crazy."

"You better not. I've a mortgage to pay, I haven't got a zillion quid to spend on this shindig."

"I could--"

"Yeah, nope. If you help, you will NOT spend your own money on this."

"If?" Harry asks hopefully.

"Fine, fine. Are you sure it's okay? It won't mess anything up with your album?"

"It won't, Lou. Promise I won't let it," Harry says, smiling and leaning in for a smooch.

"God, I don't know how I ever even think I can deny you something. Have you seen your face?"

Harry chuckes, "A few times, yeah."

"You're a bloody menace."

" _Your_ bloody menace."

"Oh my god, no!" Louis exclaims, laughing and shoving Harry away by the face. "That's disgusting."

"Thanks for letting me help, Lou," Harry whispers quietly, changing the subject again.

"Thanks for offering, kid. I know I've been keeping you and I like... Over here, and away from the kids. But I think maybe it's time to... I mean. I'm not comfortable just throwing caution to the wind, like. But maybe it's time to ease them into it. Maybe this is a good place to start."

"Yeah," he whispers again, this time because it's... Because his voice doesn't seem to be working properly around the heart that's lodged in his throat. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Good," Louis says on a radiant smile. "Good. Now come'ere, I may have forgotten to mention that Liam and Soph have the kids for the night and I'm all yours, so... I think we should celebrate by snogging until our lips fall off."

"Oh, I can think of a fair few other ways to celebrate, too..."

"Oh really?" Louis challenges.

Harry kisses him fiercely, all teeth and tongue, then pulls back, "Yeah. Let me show you..." he says, scooping Louis up in his arms and stumbling them toward the bedroom again.

 

  
***

 

  
"Okay, I know I told you we need to keep our hands to ourselves, but..." Louis trails off, hauling Harry into a kiss by the back of the neck. "Christ, watching you with children is infuriating."

"Infuriating?" Harry teases, shifting his hips forward so that his thigh presses against Louis' semi.

"Fine, it's hot as fire. Now shut up and kiss me," he mutters into Harry's mouth, mad Harry's wasted even a second on talking.

They only have a few moments, most likely. If they waste too much time in the loos, someone is bound to come check on them. And Louis really does need a wee. It's just. Louis has been watching Harry entertain Owen and several of Lise's teammates younger siblings on the sidelines for the entirety of Lise's football training camp and it's been doing some things to his heart. And his parts.

As predicted, Liam is popping his head in to find them a few minutes later and both of them have to hustle through their bathroom business before one child or another melts down. Besides, Sophia and Liam have to leave. They'd only popped round to the pitch to say hi, and Louis knows he can't keep them just because he wants to snog Harry's face right off without his children seeing.

It's just... They haven't said anything to the kids yet, is the thing. Well. Louis hasn't really said anything to anyone, really. It just hasn't seemed worth it when it's still so early and he has no idea how it's going to play out. And there's maybe a part of Louis that knows that things will change, then, too. In the moment he tells anyone what's going on, it becomes less his -- less him and Harry -- because the world will begin creeping in around the edges. It'll have to. So maybe he's being selfish, too.

Plus, when it comes to the kids he needs... He needs to ease them into this. He's actually put a lot of thought into it. He and Harry have talked it through. There's been research. This next week or so, they're just spending more time with the kids together, subtle-like. They're prepared to answer any questions Leelee or OO come out with, of course, as honestly as possible. But at first they just want to ease the pair of them into the idea of seeing Harry around more without giving it a formal title. If neither Lise nor Owen asks in the next few weeks, they'll make time the day before OO's birthday party to sit them down for a very calm conversation. Louis will do the talking. Harry will hold his hand.

But _christ_ this is harder than Louis had predicted, having Harry around the children now that things have changed. He can't believe he even thought this was possible, this idea of being near Harry and not touching him. But they need to... They have to do this right. Ease the kids into everything. Louis cannot afford to fuck this up. Not if he wants everyone to come out on the other side intact.

Outside Louis manages to keep his hands to himself as they bid Liam and Sophia farewell. With minimal whining and only one attempt to strike her brother, Lise wins Harry's attention all to herself -- _OO's had his turn already, DADDY_ \-- and because she's flat-out refusing to take her studs off, she's perched on his shoulders. Louis wouldn't have humored Lise on that front, but he's trying to leave space for the pair of them to begin to navigate their changing relationship, even if Harry is the only one who knows it's changing. Lise isn't Harry's child, not by a long shot, and Louis would never leave the big stuff to Harry alone, but they'll find a middle ground as they go, he supposes. Besides, it's cute to see Lise losing her mind with joy, a bit, as she rides on Harry's shoulder's, tugging handfuls of hair on either side of his head to get him to change directions. Harry, bless him, is a good sport about it, indulging her fancy and laughing all the way through.

Owen tires first on the walk home, and Harry watches, wide-eyed, while he melts down completely. It's one of Louis' least-favorite things about toddlers, the way they lose their minds when they're tired, all while refusing to admit they're tired so the situation can be remedied. Owen kicks and screams to keep Louis from putting him in the carriage, then refuses to walk any further, then makes himself completely dead-weight in a puddle on the pavement when Louis tries to hoist him up.

"Well, the terrible twos are almost over, right?" Harry asks, half under his breath, when they've finally got Owen strapped into the carriage and can make another move toward home.

"They are indeed," Louis agrees grimly, "The problem here is experience tells me the terrible twos aren't even really a thing. It's three that ruins you. So if he's like this now..."

Harry grimaces but doesn't say much else after that, allowing Lise to pull him into a conversation about daisies and flower crowns that is obviously of great national import. Owen is asleep within minutes.

Which is, of course, why Lise's meltdown follows only a few minutes later. They're close to home, now. But that doesn't matter much to a stroppy five-year-old who needs a glass of water at this literal exact second.

"But Daddy, I want water!" she whines, again.

"I know, bug. You've already said as much. But I haven't got any to give you right now."

Lise switches tactics, apparently having decided Harry is a better target. History shows that's not an entirely untrue assumption. See: Lise's studs, still on her tiny feet, while she perches on Harry's shoulders.

"Haaaarry, I want waaaater."

"Hang on, button, we'll get you some first thing at home."

"No, Harry, I want water now! I _need_ it," she insists, swinging her legs at his side and landing a few kicks.

"Lise," Louis warns.

"We're nearly there, Leelee just hang on," Harry placates.

"I'm not going to make it!" she insists, whingeshouting as she pouts heavily.

Louis is not having this. Lise may be tired. She may be withering away with thirst. But she is not going to behave like this and win anything by it. Harry may be panicking already, but he is not impressed. With a look, Louis silences Harry, who swallows his next statement without hesitation.

"Well then," Louis begins, affecting his driest, most bored tone, "I guess you're going to expire, bug, I don't know what to tell you. You've had a short run, it seems."

"DADDY!" she huffs, crossing her arms.

"It was a good one, though, yeah?" he asks, looking up at her, "Your Nan and I will write a telling eulogy, promise."

Lise stares down at him mutinously for a few moments, before her expression gives way to confusion. Louis forces himself to look completely unaffected as he pushes the carriage onward. He will not laugh in his daughter's face right now. It would be counter-productive.

"What's a oo-lo-gee?" Lise asks, finally giving in to the confusion.

And they're at the gate. Really, the timing is perfect.

"We'll look it up in the dictionary after we get you a glass of water, bug. Now, Harry is going to put you down outside the front door, but I want you to take your boots off before you go inside and leave them on the rug by the door. Got it?"

"Yes, daddy," Lise replies glumly, all the fight gone out of her. Again, Louis does not laugh.

He and Harry aren't alone again until after dinner has passed and everyone's washed up and tucked into bed. This time Harry took charge of Lise's routine and Louis saw to Owen. Turning to find Harry waiting for him in the door, Louis can't help but remember the first time he watched Harry put one of his children down to sleep-- he'd shown uncommon tenderness, and something warm had lodged in Louis' chest, then, something he'd been unready, or unwilling to acknowledge at the time. But now he sees that whole day for what it was: the push he needed to begin to see space for Harry in his real life, and not just his most distant fantasies. He's still not sure how all of this is going to work -- or if it really, truly can -- but he's more than willing, now, to try.

In the kitchen Louis goes about making a cuppa, allowing Harry to crowd him against the sink and sighing into a quiet kiss. It feels good. Easy, even. He knows it won't always be like this. Knows they haven't even really been honest, yet. But if there can just... If moments like this can be a thing, Louis thinks whatever happens it will be okay. With a tiny nip to Harry's bottom lip and a pat on his bum, Louis ducks away, grabbing two mugs and dropping teabags inside.

"Did Lise go down okay?"

"Course, Lou, she's lovely."

"It's sweet of you to say, kid, but we both know my daughter is not 100% lovely. No kid is."

"I know, Lou, but on balance, I mean..."

"I know," he teases, poking Harry's belly and handing him a mug. They drift to the sofa in the front room. "I just... I know this isn't going to be easy. You're a kid yourself, too, and I want to make sure you're looking at this realistically? I mean. I know there's a learning curve, and I'm... I'm here for you through that, I am. I guess I just need to like... set the table stakes, you know? Kids are amazing. _My_ kids are amazing. But they can also be a right nightmare. Owen's sidewalk meltdown? Lise's near fit over a glass of water? Stuff like that happens more days of the week than not, you know?"

"I know," Harry says softly, tucking his toes under Louis' thigh as he appears to consider his next words. "I don't... I know it's going to be really hard. In ways I can't predict. But I want this, Lou. And I'm _not_ a kid. I haven't been a kid since I signed that contract and went out on the road."

"I know you think that, but..."

"Nope. Stop."

"I'm just saying I didn't think I was a kid when I was twenty-two, either. But looking back at thirty?"

"Fine. I'm a kid," Harry huffs, the determined look on his face almost painfully sweet. "Doesn't make me any less committed to this. I did think about this a fair bit before I started throwing myself at you, like."

"I know," Louis says gently, feeling the fight go out of him. Not that they were fighting, per say, just that he'd been trying to push his point. And he just... doesn't want to anymore. "By the way, you do not have to indulge my daughter's every whim, kid. I love Leelee, but she's a tiny terrorist. We don't negotiate with her."

Harry laughs broadly, before slapping a hand over his mouth and leaning in to rest his forehead against Louis' shoulder. Louis wraps a hand around Harry's ankle and squeezes gently.

"I know you want her to like you, kid. And I want you to develop your own like... rapport with her. But you can't just give her everything she wants. Sometimes she needs to take her boots off, or shut up and wait for a glass of water."

"I'll... Be better at that, Lou. Promise."

"The thing is, H, she's going to love you no matter what. She already does," he says, giving Harry's ankle another squeeze. "Love isn't something you earn. Not that way."

Harry whimpers and then tugs his ankle out of Louis' grasp, turning in his seat until he can cuddle into Louis' side. Louis lifts his arm and pulls Harry close, inhaling sharply when he feels Harry's lips at his neck for one warm second. After that Harry settles against him, sipping his tea and playing with the seam of Louis' jeans and humming quietly. Louis holds him tighter, comforted by the silence, one of a sort he hasn't felt in years. He could really, really get used to this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I KNOW. I'm the worst. It's been two months, basically, and I'm the worst.
> 
> Turns out adulthood can be a real pain in the ass for a fic writer to handle. Who knew?
> 
> Also, I've really been struggling with the chapter I'm working on currently (ten) because there are just a lot of moving parts that I'm trying to get into the right positions and it's more hard work than fun and it's even more hard when I only get my hands on it in fits and starts, and... yeah. 
> 
> Good news, though, is I had a major breakthrough with that chapter last weekend and thousands of words found their way out. Plus I'm building more time for writing into my schedule now (honest, I have a planner and everything). So. All Flowers in Time is very much alive. And there is very much more coming. Sooner rather than later, I hope. But I've no intention of abandoning this. I love Louis and Harry and the kidlets far too much to let them go.
> 
> I hope you're having a lovely day. It's sunny here, this morning, so I'm going to grab brunch with friends before the weather turns. Ciao.
> 
> xL


	9. Nine

 

 

* * *

 

"Fuck!" Harry spits, dropping his phone on the table and burying his head in his hands.

"Haz?" Niall asks.

Julian has stopped what he's doing, too. They're both just staring at him.

"Dude, what?" Julian adds.

"Fuck it's... It's Lise."

"Wait, is something wrong?" Niall asks. He's been asking after Lise a lot lately, actually. It's kind of sweet.

"No, no. I mean. Not... Lise is fine, like. It's just... The Daily Fail has suddenly realized she's with me a lot? Like. They have pics from our sushi date, and our tea, and from after footie last weekend." Harry rakes a hand angrily through his hand, shoving the phone toward Niall. "They're speculating about who she is and what's going on and... Fuck, Ni. She can't be in the papers. Who the fuck even  _took_  these pictures?! She's a child!"

"Okay, well, okay. Right. Her face isn't show in any of them, so that's... something."

"Bloody hell, Ni-- Louis and I aren't even public. I... Bollocks. I have to ring him."

"Hey, dude, breathe. This is going to be okay. You have lawyers. You're going to call one of them, right now, first thing. They'll get them taken down, you can't just post pictures of kids like that without permission, there's like... laws or something."

"Laws or something," Harry moans. This is a nightmare. "This is a nightmare."

"It's bollocks, innit? But it's going to be okay. Call your lawyers, like right now."

"You say that like I know my lawyers."

"Don't be daft, if you don't, someone at Rocket certainly does. Jesus. This is why you have people. To wrangle your other people. You're a rubbish famous person, mate," Niall half laughs, but catches himself before it grows, he knows this isn't the time. "Just start making phone calls. You'll feel better after you do. And then you can call Louis. It'll be easier to talk to him if you already have a plan, mate."

Niall grips Harry's shoulder warmly and holds his phone out, the number for Rocket up on his screen already. He presses send and looks up, catching Julian's apologetic stare before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. This was not supposed to happen. Who even  _does_  shit like this?

Niall is right though. He feels a lot better after he's talked to his lawyers who are cease-and-desisting or something. Harry doesn't know. He just knows that they're going to make it stop. And that they want him to come in and talk to them a bit about what's going on in his life, so they can help... Shit. He'd told them Louis was his boyfriend, and while that was, for all intents and purposes, true... He's never said that out loud to anyone. Not even Louis. He's never really had the chance.

It's not that no one knows. By now Julian and Ryan have clued in. And Niall knows all about it -- Harry is fit to burst after he sees Louis and Niall is, as with everything in Harry's life, his go-to guy. Niall is probably traumatized at this point, honestly. But it keeps him from telling anyone else (like his mum, or the news media) and it makes everything feel more real, even when it's still this unsteady fledgling of a thing. Harry knows he's in over his head, in love when Louis is maybe just in like, but it's all too late at this point. He couldn't put the breaks on if he tried.

And fuck. Fuck. Now he needs to call Louis.

"Niall," he whines, pouting and wiggling in his seat until Niall makes sense of his request.

"You are such a baby," he laughs, but scoots his chair closer and puts an arm around Harry.

Harry rests his head on Niall's shoulder and picks at the tear in his jeans until he's ready to dial Louis' number. It's the middle of the work day, and he tries not to call these hours. Knows it's bad form for Louis and kind of makes Harry look a little immature and needy. But texting about this is not happening. And he doesn't want to wait, doesn't want Louis to find out any other way.

"Hey kid," Louis says softly.

"Hey babe," he replies, biting his lip and furrowing his brow, only the tiniest bit relieved Louis can't see him. "Is uhm, is this a bad time?"

"No, it's... Is everything okay, kid? You sound..."

"Yeah, ehm... I just. I know I shouldn't call during working hours, but this is..."

"Spit it out, H."

"So, I don't... I kind of freaked out a little, and I don't know how you're going to feel, so I'm like... Bollocks. Okay. So The Daily Fail ran an article online today, compiling pics of me and Lise from various outings, and speculating on who she is to me, if I secretly knocked someone up years ago, whatever."

He hears Louis inhale sharply on the other end of the line and suddenly realizes how fucking bullshit it is that he's doing this over the phone. But he just... there wasn't time. And they were both working today. And. Okay. Focus.

"Her face wasn't shown in any of the pictures, actually, yours wasn't either. And my lawyers are already on it, sending out cease-and-desists, or whatever. They assured me the pictures should be down really quickly."

"Yeah, that's, uhm... that's not how the internet works."

"No, Lou, babe, they promised."

"The Mail will take them down, of course. But they're already on Tumblr and Twitter, I'm sure. That's just... that's the nature of the beast."

Louis sounds very... clinical. Tired and clinical and it's kind of scary. It's hard to read.

"Fuck, shit, Lou. I'm so sorry. I never wanted this to happen. I didn't even think they COULD do this. I don't think they can. But it's already happened and I know I'm like... ruining everything. Your daughter shouldn't have to be part of this and I understand completely if you don't want me to like... take her out anymore. Or come out with you guys, or, I dunno. I'm..."

Harry trails off, sad and tired and not even sure what it is he wants to say. What he  _can_  say. Until this exact moment he hadn't even realized the impact this could have on his relationship with Louis. He'd been so focused on his relationship with Lise.

"No, hey, love. Stop," Louis soothes.

"What?" he asks, shocked.

"It's not your fault, kid."

"Lou, it is!"

"Love, do you  _want_  me to be mad at you?"

"No, no, I just! If I wasn't..." Harry heaves a sigh and snuggles closer to Niall, who grasps him tighter.

"You know I didn't go into this blind, H. It's not your fault, like. Yes, it's related to your career. But it's not something you set up, or courted, kid. It just is," Louis sighs gently. "And we've been careful, you and I. Mostly. But -- and maybe this was silly, but it was  _both_  of us -- we assumed that Lise would be safe. That because she's a child... H, I didn't think they could take or publish pictures of her either, okay?"

"Okay," he whispers.

"I guess we'll just have to be... More careful? I dunno, love. The cat's out of the bag now, a bit."

"I don't... I'm not comfortable with her being in the spotlight, Lou. I know she's not my daughter, but... She didn't choose this life."

Louis sighs, and it's a bit lovely, really, though Harry doesn't yet know why. It just feels that way.

"I think I already knew you felt that way, H, but I'm... I'm glad to hear you say it. We're on the same page with this. That's a really good thing" Louis says, careful and soft and comforting.

"I guess it is," Harry admits, letting a tiny smile make it's way onto his lips.

"Would it make you feel better if we made a plan? Like... If we talked about how we'd like to handle this stuff going forward?" Louis asks. Harry's lungs start to feel funny. "I think it'd make me feel better? And I know I'd feel better knowing that  _you_  felt better, whatever that meant."

"Lou..."

"Yeah, kid?"

"I uh..." He wants to say  _'I love you'_  maybe more than he's ever wanted to say it before, but now, here, on this phone call, is not the right time. So he swallows it once more. "I'd like that, yeah. My lawyers are, I mean, if after we talked, you wanted to, we can talk to my lawyers, too. And my publicist, like. I mean. I employ all these people. Might as well make 'em earn it, right? Figure out what they know and how they can help us protect the kids."

"Yeah, H. That's... A good idea. Think they could, eh, I mean, maybe, after we talk... Maybe they might be able to help us figure out the best way to go public?"

For a moment Harry is stunned into silence. He's known this was coming, or at least, he'd hoped it was. But it's a bit shocking how good it feels to hear Louis say it aloud. Give it words.

"Yeah!" he replies enthusiastically, laughing at himself. Louis joins in. After a moment of laughter and silence, he continues, "Yeah. You know I'd settle for a stupid selfie on Instagram, right? Or like... holding your hand at Costa."

"Yeah, kid, I know." He can hear Louis' smile. "I don't care about that part either. I just. I can tell this stuff with Lise has upset you, and I know I haven't exactly made it seem like I'm keen on publicity and I want... I want us to do this right. Whatever that means. Whenever we're ready. And I'm maybe not ready, just yet? I mean... I dunno. Let's just know what comes after you hold me hand in front of the paps, yeah? Then we can take it from there whenever."

"Yeah," Harry breathes, and Niall pokes at the crater of his dimple, which causes him to laugh. "God, Lou, you should know that someday, at some point, I'm going to snog your face off in front of basically the entire planet."

"Oh god," he laughs, "I'm in for it now."

"Indeed."

"Let's just... Nothing that will over-traumatize my children in the future if they see it. Like... visible tongue is fine, yeah? But--"

"Lou!" he shouts.

"Only teasing, kid."

"No shit."

"Okay, okay. Love, I've got to go."

"I know, me too. Julian is getting impatient."

"Go make a record, okay? I'm off to help people sell some things. But, ehm, come by tonight, yeah? Whenever."

"I can call round after dinner, I think."

"Sounds good. And, kid?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For... For calling. And for caring so much, too."

"S'nothing, Lou."

"But it's not, love."

"I..."

There's a voice, somewhere in the background, calling for Louis. They're out of time.  

"Alright, that's me. I'm off. See you laters. Text me."

"Yeah, I'll text you. Bye, babe."

"Bye, kid."

Louis rings off first and Harry follows, dropping his phone to his lap and closing his eyes for a second as he cuddles closer to Niall. Niall scratches at the nape of Harry's hair gently, giving him a few seconds of silence before he breaks it.

"That sounded okay?" Niall prompts.

"Yeah, yeah. It was... He was fine, like. Less freaked out than me, even?"

"That's brilliant!"

"Yeah," Harry says, letting himself smile, "Yeah. And he, eh... I think he maybe wants to go public, like. I mean, not right away, I don't think? But like. Someday? Soon maybe? I dunno. But it's the first time he's said that, and..."

"What? Get in, Hazza!" Niall exclaims, pulling away and forcing Harry to sit up and look him in the eye.

"He said after we talk to the lawyers or whatever about the kids, maybe we could like... talk to them about us? Well, we have to talk first, like. But after that, I guess? I'm... Ni..."

"You're smiling like a lunatic," Niall says, giving him a shove.

And it's true. Harry can feel it. He's lapsed into silence partly because he's not really sure what to say -- it's not as if they've decided anything officially, so nothing is totally clear just yet, he knows that -- and partly because he's smiling so hard it's actually difficult to move his lips and form words. Eventually, he manages to put a finger on his feelings, though. Or one of them, at least. And he wrangles it into words.

"It's weird how shit can be bad and good at the same time, you know?"

 

***

 

  
So it turns out that Harry Styles is a secret party planning genius. And maybe it's just that he knows some really good people to know. Or his people know people. But whatever it is, Harry's assured Louis that it wasn't much effort, only a few hours here and there, and Louis has gotten the invoices and written the checks himself, so he knows it's on-budget, too. And yet, it's amazing. Top to bottom.

Harry insisted on an ice-cream party, partly because it's late June -- prime ice-cream party times, apparently -- and partly because Owen is in an anti-cake phase of development at this very moment. Louis honestly couldn't care less about the theme, so long as Owen is happy, and given the way he's been beaming for hours straight now, Louis has gotten his wish.

But yes. Ice-cream party.

The doors between the kitchen and the back garden are thrown open, and people are milling about, spreading themselves between tables set up indoors and out. There's bunting that looks like waffle cones and hundreds and thousands. Everything else is done up in white and shades of yellow, which is Owen's favorite color, from the plates and bowls and napkins to streamers and party crackers. Louis is never going to get all the exploding glitter cleaned up. He's not mad about it.

The piece de resistance is, apparently, this funny bicycle thing that Harry hired, which, when pedaled, operates an old-fashioned ice-cream machine. Someone's come along with it to help all the kids learn about making ice-cream, and maybe Harry was right about how much kids love ice-cream in June, because all the little ones are gathered round and there's a lot of enthusiastic shouting going on. It turns out only Lise and the small handful of her friends have long enough legs to operate the bike on their own, but there are enough adults who seem completely rapt by the whole display, anyway, so Louis is sure they'll be able to help out with the tiny kids. Then there's a paddling pool set up way at the back of the garden, which Louis assumes is for tossing ice-cream covered toddlers into for cleaning purposes. Again. Harry is probably a bit of a genius.

Louis is currently partaking in an adult beverage and observing as Lottie wanders about taking Polaroids of the action. Because Harry bought a Polaroid camera and enough film to capture at least the next entire year of Owen's life. Because he is the sweetest and the smartest and this will probably be the best-documented birthday party ever thrown at the Tomlinson household. Or at least since Nora's gone.

The girls have been trading off turns with the camera, mostly, and Louis suspects they're competing to see who can take the best photos, and thus, impress Harry the most. Harry, bless him, keeps encouraging it, winking at Louis over their shoulders as he plays them one off the other. And bless them all, but this has been wildly entertaining for Louis-- both watching them preen under Harry's attention and watching them constantly attempt to one-up each other. So it's almost just a bonus that the pictures are actually turning out amazing. Must be all the time they spend on Instagram.

But seriously, it cannot be understated. Harry Styles is a bit of a genius. Maybe the evil kind. Louis doesn't even care.

The only thing he does care about at this moment is that he kind of misses Harry, and the absolute minute he can next tear him away from Owen, he will do. Louis needs some adult time locked up in the downstairs loo with his boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Harry Styles is Louis' boyfriend. That's a real thing, a true thing, about his life right at this moment. And even just thinking the word brings a smile to his lips, which he immediately tries to hide in his lager, just in case anyone is watching.

"You're welcome," Sophia says, dropping into the empty seat beside him.

For a moment Louis ignores her, half because he knows that tone in her voice all too well, and half because he's distracted by Lise screeching from across the garden, where she's made the mistake of attempting a tickle war with Niall Horan. Because his daugther is, as it turns out, an incorrigible flirt, and Niall is her victim of choice. Louis supposes it could be worse. Sure, she spends an awful lot of time paying attention to Niall's crotch, which is weird, but she could be enamored with someone her own age, and then there might be actual threat of like... kissing, or something. Louis isn't sure exactly what nearly-six-year-olds get up to these days, but he's positive it can't be good. Niall is no threat. Louis will live with that.

"Hmm?" he asks, distracted, as he turns away from Lise and begins to seek Harry again.

"I said, ' _you're welcome_ ,'" Sophia repeats, more firmly this time.

"For?" he asks, still only half-listening. Harry's just climbed onto the bicycle and hoisted Owen into his lap to help him pedal and it's... Well, it's way cuter than Sophia can even ever dream of being.

"Taking the heat from all of our parents -- yours, mine, Nora's -- about your relationship with young Master Styles, Lou," she says, tone unamused. "The good news is I hardly know anything so I didn't have to lie."

And shit.  _Shit_. Sophia sounds upset and a bit hurt and that was never his intention with any of this, with any of his silence and secrecy. He just... There are too many reasons to recount, from the desperate way he's been trying to protect his heart to the thrill of the forbidden rendezvous.

"Soph," he sighs, not even sure where to begin.

"Shit. Sorry, I'm sorry, Lou. I meant for that to sound funny. Jokey, like."

Louis turns to face her then, and her contrite expression only makes him feel worse.

"It's okay, Soph, I... I know," he closes his eyes for a second and puts his beer down, shifting in his seat to reach for Sophia's hands. "And I'm sorry, too. I didn't meant to shut you out so much, or so long, or whatever, I just..."

"No, Lou, don't apologize. You're... you're an adult. And I promised I would stop meddling in your love life. I did. And I think I've been rather good about that, actually. Up until this moment, I suppose. It's only just... He's here, and the way Owen looks at him..."

"I know..." Louis trails off into silence, gazing over his shoulder to catch another glimpse of Harry.

They're still on the bike, and Harry's leaning forward to try and meet Owen's eye, curls tumbling over his shoulder as he talks. Most of his face is obscured by Owen's head and even still, Louis can see how bright, how blinding, his smile is. It's clear in the angle of his cheek, the crinkle of his eyes. And it strikes him, then, that he's maybe lied to himself a bit all along. Or at least for the last few weeks.

That maybe this thing with Harry hasn't been casual -- too casual to bother mentioning to anyone, or explaining -- in far longer than he's wanted to admit. That maybe it was never casual. That maybe, just maybe, it's bigger, and better, and more important, even in this moment, than he's ever allowed himself to recognize before.

Because this man helped plan his son's birthday party. This man held his hand last night while he explained boyfriends and relationships to his five- and three-year-old children, then asked for a bit of time alone with his daughter to chat, because this man cared enough about his daughter to want to assure her that their friendship wouldn't go away just because his friendship with her father had changed. This man held a place in Louis' heart he hadn't even dreamed of allowing anyone near in the past three years, and he hadn't even realized how empty it was until Harry was there, testing the edges, making it his own.

This man is terribly, horribly, unbelievably important to him already and it's only been two months.

Which would seem logical, given that he's just told his children —  _his children_  — about their relationship. And they've discussed being seen in public together, like, by the paparazzi, which is just a whole universe of... holy shit. But somehow the depth of it, the breadth of these feelings, has only just occurred to him.

Because there's something in the sight of Harry's smile, here, at Owen's third birthday party that just... Makes sense of something for Louis.

"Owen adores him. Lise, too, obviously, but Owen, it's..."

"It's different, I can see that."

"And Harry, he's... God. His way with Owen."

"Do you love him, Lou?" Sophia asks seriously, tightening her grip on both his hands. And the question would be out of nowhere — should be — except it's not, because Soph knows him like the back of her hand. Knows immediately all he's been keeping from her.

Louis feels his heart seize. And he... He doesn't know, not really, not yet. How can he, if he's only just let himself realize that this is... Big. Huge. Monumental.

He should know, maybe. But in this moment, on the spot, the idea terrifies him. That it could be that serious this soon and maybe... Maybe he just needs time and... Love is a big word for him now, bigger than it was 10 years ago, even.

"I don't know," he confesses.

"You don't know? Or you don't  _want_  to know?"

"I just don't know, Soph.  I've only just..." he sighs, and closes his eyes for a second, squeezing her hands. "I've realized that he's... he's a lot, Soph. He's something huge, to me,  _for_  me. But the 'L' word... It's just... Bigger now. After Nora. Imagine how it'd be for you, if Liam were gone, with all you know of love now, to ever say it again."

"Lou..."

"It's not that I don't want to. It's just that I don't think I'm ready. I don't think  _we're_  ready. That's... I come with a lot, Soph. Harry's still young, like. It's a lot of pressure for him. For both of us. I want to be sure before I say it."

"I think I understand, love. And I think..." Sophia pauses.

Louis has no idea where she's about to go. Almost wishes he could put the breaks on this conversation. Because a backyard birthday party is almost certainly not the time. But he owes it to himself, and to his feelings, and to  _Harry_  to let this exist in words. To let Sophia in. So he lets her go on.

"I never got to promise Nora, Lou, because she was gone too fast, like. But I promised myself, anyhow, and the memory of her, too, that I'd look after you. And in her honor, that I'd see you happy again. That's all I want. And I will stand by my promise to you, about not meddling or pushing. I'll just be here, ready, waiting.

"But I've seen the way you two look at each other, and the way your children look at him, and you, and you both together and... Just. Be kind to my friend Louis, okay? Let him live this without the weight of the world holding him back. Because I love him, and he's got a universe of people around him who love him too, and no matter what happens, everything will be okay. But this could be something great."

"I love you, Soph, I really, truly do," Louis whispers, ducking close and pulling Sophia into his arms for a huge hug. With a kiss to her forehead, he parts them, "And I promise, I'm giving this a shot. I really am."

"I'd say 'I'll hold you to that,' but I'm pretty sure I just promised to continue to keep me mouth shut. Soo...."

Sophia and Louis both laugh at that, Soph pressing her fingers beneath her eyes in what appears to be an attempt to keep tears a bay, and not to manage one's she's already cried. Louis gives her a fond shove, for good measure.

"No crying at me son's third birthday party, love! We've got to leave the tears to the children. Save them for when Lise starts a fight with some innocent kid over the last of the wine gums, or summat."

"She wouldn't!" Soph gasps, teasingly.

"I think we both know she would. Especially if they're blackcurrant," Louis laughs.

"Is she okay? I mean, with Franny and stuff. I've been so busy these days..."

"She's alright, I suppose. Acting out a bit, but that's to be expected. Her teachers are working with her a lot, and me, too. And Harry's been talking about Franny with her a lot, so they can remember happy things, he says. I think she likes that."

"He's kind of a saint, isn't he?"

"I know, it's for sure too good to be true. I'm just waiting for the day he turns around and laughs and is like, 'Just kidding I've been a vampire all along,' or whatever."

"Who's a vampire?" Lise asks, appearing out of nowhere and giving Soph a fright.

"You are, little love," Soph teases, scooping Lise into her lap and pressing messy kisses all over her face. Lise squeals with glee and tries to push free.

"I'm not a vampire!" she shouts, wriggling fairly violently.

"Are you sure? I think you have some pretty pointy teeth just there," Soph continues, as Lise settles.

"You're silly, Auntie Soph."

"The silliest," Louis agrees. "Did you need something, my heart?"

"No, Daddy. I just wanted to come say 'hi.'"

Louis looks across the garden to see Niall occupied with another little girl from Owen's school, and understands his daughter's presence just that bit more. But he does not laugh at her determined expression or her tiny crossed arms. He does not.

"Okay, bug. Do you think you could do me a favor, then?" he asks, looking over her head to catch Sophia's eye and wink.

"Welllll..." Lise hedges. Always suspicious, this one.

"Could you go help Auntie Soph tell your Nan and and Grandad and your Mimi and Pop-pop and maybe even your Nanny and Jippy that Harry and I are boyfriends? Any way you'd like, my heart, as dramatic as you can be. And I  _know_  how dramatic that is, so... Make it a show, yeah?"

"I can say  _anything_?" Lise asks, eyes alight with mischief. God. He loves this little girl so madly.

"Anything, bug. Anything."

Louis smiles and Sophia makes a face, like the both of them know they're in for trouble. But honestly, Louis doesn't care. Because he's got the most handsome boyfriend in the universe in his sight, and he thinks it's about time for a cheeky snog in the loo. He'll let his children do his dirty work for him this time. It's why he's had them, after all, innit?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi. Hiiii.
> 
> You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you? I wouldn't blame you, after all, it's been half a century since I updated. You guys, writing is hard. Chapter 10 killed me. But I finished the draft so I'm allowing myself to update now. And then, I start on Chapter 11. And oh, the things that are happening.
> 
> Promise. I'm clearly updating in fits and starts, but I love these characters and I have their story planned, and I love their story and I just want to tell it. So. This will happen. It will be finished.
> 
> Thanks for reading. And for sticking with me. And for commenting to ask me when the fuck I'm going to update because it really does make me smile and pushes me to keep writing.
> 
> You all are the best.
> 
> xxxL


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